


A Spark of Emotion through Time

by kitkat1003



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: During, Idk this is my first fic for this fandom, Occurs both before, Poor Cogsworth basically, Slow Burn, and after the film, pls review, updates random
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10135709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkat1003/pseuds/kitkat1003
Summary: Cogsworth does not need emotion.  His life would be much better without it.  Lumiere, on the other hand, clings to his emotions and hopes like his life depends on it, and is willing to do anything for his friends so they can feel the same.  Cogsworth will most likely be a challenge.





	1. Enchanting Conversations Half Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so I have no idea if this is in character or if I'm just a terrible writer but please review and gve me your thoughts. This is my first work for this fandom so idk what I'm doing!!

Cogsworth was good at one thing; organizing.

Organize the castle, the servants, his emotions. Everything had to be in perfect condition, not a touch out of place, both for the need of order and for the sake of keeping away from his Master’s wrath.

Organizing his emotions, well that was simple. Compartmentalize, throw them into the deep recesses of your mind, and it’s quite easy to lose your own feeling. There was never need for a display of emotion; the Master was cruel when he was young, and always knew just what to say to hurt you if you would ever let the cold mask of indifference slip, so most people had learned to keep things under wraps. He just kept it under wraps at all times. There was only one problem.

People.

Lord, if he could just be away from their madness would his life be easy! He could not do things by himself, so he needed them to be around, but if they just didn’t talk to him outside of work, if they just took orders silently, what a wonderful world for him that would be. Instead, there were comments and jeers and ribbings intended to make him laugh but all they did was ruin his perfect lack of emotion and bring in cold fury. And of all the people, _Lumiere-!_

The worst of them, the French fright never let him have his peace.

When the enchantment came, the need for indifference went out the window. Everyone had an opinion. Chip, Ms.Potts, Angelique, Babette, they all never stopped whining and crying, and while he understood, couldn’t they complain away from him and allow him to stew? Lumiere took the candelabra look in stride, and in a week he was hopping about, cheering up servants, flirting with Babette, _teasing him_.

Infuriating. That was the word to describe Lumiere. Completely, utterly rage inducing.

Perhaps it was because Lumiere always emoted; always had a sly smirk on his face, a teasing grin and words dripping with attitude that Cogsworth couldn’t stand him. If he could just keep everything organized, push his emotions away, he wouldn’t be scared, or angry, or stutter, but Lumiere never relented. One day, some six years before Belle stepped foot in the castle, Cogsworth shouted.

“Would you cease your infernal talking?! Make like a _real_ candlestick and **_BE QUIET_**!”

And there was silence, but no peace. Cogsworth did not like to shout, hated being angry, but stress caused his cogs to coil and his coils to snap. He turned, and found Lumiere, and the rest of the castle, staring at him like he was a rabid animal, something feral and dangerous, and he supposed that was to be expected. He sighed. Sighing was something he did all the time nowadays. Rubbing his sorry excuses for hands across his clock face, he specifically rubs his painted on eyes and looks to Lumiere, who was composing himself and erasing the shock from his wax features.

“Apologies, Lumiere, that was uncalled for,” He half mutters, weary from four years of cursed life in the most literal of senses. “Carry on, I must attend to my…duties,” He addresses the shell-shocked crowd and waddles off, wooden peg legs nearly feeling natural. Human legs seemed so unfamiliar now. He could feel the memory of his own usual physique fading day by day, and the wood in his being grew less flexible and magical and more stiff and inanimate as years passed. Moving up to the study, on the east wing of course, he hops up onto the desk and lays down on the wooden surface, staring up at the ceiling and listening to the awful tick tock of his being that never ends. There’s another sound, the clip clop almost horselike movement of a certain candelabra that Cogsworth knows all too well.

“Mon ami, that was quite the spectacle you made back zere,” Lumiere comments, and Cogsworth refuses to reply. He won’t give Lumiere the satisfaction of getting him to break. Though, Lumiere’s tone doesn’t seem all that teasing, or with any sort of positive emotion that Cogsworth can discern. It sounds just as tired as Cogsworth feels, not that he’s inclined to care.

“Yes, well, four years of being a clock does tend to make one irritable,” He snaps with barely any semblance of fire in his speech. “Might as well get used to hearing this blasted ticking sound forever, with how things are going,” He speaks the final part under his breath, but of course Lumiere manages to hear.

“Non, you can’t be thinking zat we will _never_ be human again!” Incredulous is the tone Cogsworth finds Lumiere showing, and he barely glances at the Frenchman’s face to see it portraying the same emotion. Pah! Emotions; again, trifling in those had caused him only trouble.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Master doesn’t seem to be coming out of his room anytime soon, much less changing his entire viewpoint and becoming a proper person who could fall in love with anyone,” He replies bitterly, and Lumiere’s face shifts from shocked to alarmed, a very subtle shift that Cogsworth almost misses.

_Shock doesn’t have worry in it, alarm does._

“Mon ami, you must not give up hope, it iz all we have,” Lumiere almost pleads, and Cogsworth finally deigns to fully look over at Lumiere, who has kindly blown out the candles that are his hands for the sake of not accidentally burning the wooden and brass clock that is Cogsworth, but the flickering candle on Lumiere’s head almost seems to fade and return to brightness nervously, expressing the same feeling on Lumiere’s face.

“I don’t have hope, don’t need the feeling,” he lies, pretends the blooming rose shaped thorns of hope don’t exist in the place where his heart would be, vines coiling around his soul like gears and machinery, poking him and making him feel. Lumiere sighs, an odd thing for him to do.

“You say that, mon ami, but I do not believe it,” he says, and Cogsworth curses Lumiere’s innate ability to read him like a book. No, he wasn’t a book, he was a clock, but that was beside the point. Lumiere’s gaze seems to pierce through him, and Cogsworth shifts uncomfortably in his spot on the desk. After a moment, Lumiere’s gaze relents, and, he turns to walk away. Or, well, hop. “You should come to ze kitchens when you have collected yourself. We do not need to eat, but it still gives us energy, and you are looking tired, Cogsworth,” The use of his name startles Cogsworth from the indifference he was sinking into, and he watches Lumiere leave.

When the walking light disappears, the room grows dark, in both lighting and mood. Who could’ve thought one person could make a room so alive? After a few moments of speculation, he falls back onto the desk, and closes his eyes.

* * *

When he opens them, it’s to the frantic gaze of Lumiere. “Cogsworth, where have you been?! It has been a week since we spoke!” Comes the shout from Lumiere’s mouth, and Cogsworth eyes widen to saucers.

“A _week?!_ Oh dear, there is so much I must have missed, the castle needs to be put in tip top shape-!” He’s running off into the madness once more, the conversation with Lumiere and the words of hope and indifference forgotten in his slumber.

Lumiere never speaks of it, and when Cogsworth does remember the words exchanged, he refuses to speak of it as well.  There is nothing more to be said


	2. Master Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @Prince Adam no offense but as a beast you were kind of an ass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY I WAS NOT EXPECTING PEOPLE TO BE SO INTERESTED AND HAPPY WITH THIS. And i certainly wasn't expecting such a long and kind comment form a certain user ( ;3c) So i wrote almost 2000 words! I hope I'm not going too fast through the years, I kind of glossed over the first four, but I might go back to them later. The after the movie bits are when the story really gets going, but I like writing some before scenes. Anyway, hope ya'll enjoy!

Terror is Cogsworth’s least favorite feeling.

Day by day, terror mounds, what with the Master’s growing temper and depression and the ever looming deadline of the wilting rose that spells out there ability to be flesh and blood again. Six years, six _blasted_ years, and Cogsworth has nothing to show for it besides dusty rooms and broken spirits. Most days he spends finding servants moaning about in disarray and gloom, dreaming of their lost humanity as their Master sulks in the West Wing. Most days Cogsworth wonders how the near man but still boy in mind even survives, considering he never sees the Master eat, but then again, the castle is enchanted.

 _Cursed_ is the better word, but no one says it aloud.

Today however, is strange, because while Cogsworth makes his rounds to see the inhabitants, not once does he find the candelabra nightmare that is his over exuberant, flirty, cheerful…acquaintance. That in itself is odd, because if there is one thing Cogsworth allows himself to admire about Lumiere, it is that the man always stuck around to lift people’s spirits. After a good hour of searching the rest of the castle, Cogsworth is driven near mad by the absence of the candlestick.  How-how _dare_ he change the routine that Cogsworth had so carefully gotten used to, to the point that this shift vexed him so?!

In his rage, he finally allowed himself past the self imposed barrier and into the West Wing, deciding right then and there that he would find the stupid candlestick and then drag him back into the semblance of normalcy that Cogsworth lived for. After a few moments of rage, terror settled back in, a familiar tightness in his chest area that sent the tick tock of his internal clock to go haywire as he realized that he was in the Master’s area! The area with the _rose_! _His room!_

Oh, dear, he needed to run out of there right at that moment, indeed! Yet, Lumiere was still nowhere to be seen, and he was already past the threshold of what was forbidden, so… With a sigh, he waddled his way around the West Wing as silently as he could, though considering his condition; it was hardly anywhere near silent. The West Wing had an air of being fragile, like if you made a wrong step the whole area would fall to pieces. It was a much dustier and dirtier place than the rest of the castle, left near untouched for six years; save for the Master’s wanderings, and bugs crawled about it. Some of the vermin tried to crawl on his wooden surfaced body, but Cogsworth wouldn’t stand to be treated like a common household object, even if he did look like one, and he shook them off and ran to another corridor.

Then, he saw him. Lumiere.

His clock hands that acted as a makeshift mustache spun wildly in rage to see the candlestick not only in a heavily forbidden area of the castle, but just standing about. He waddled forward madly, a lecture rising up his throat and his face heating up in a fury, when he saw Lumiere’s left arm.

It was _broken._

The metal of Lumiere’s enchanted arms were flexible, Cogsworth knew, but even the enchantment could not account for it being bent down and twisted to it almost snapping in half, and it made Cogsworth queasy, remembering the occasion that one of the maids had broken her arm after falling from a ladder. His anger died and made way for dreadful concern as he heard Lumiere muttering in French while fiddling with the broken appendage, pain clear in his voice. He cleared his throat, and Lumiere turned, eyes wide, and in his surprise, he managed to jerk his bad arm, and Cogsworth winced in sympathy when Lumiere’s face scrunched up in barely disguised discomfort.

“Ah,” Came the breathless voice of the candelabra.  “Cogsworth. What brings you to zis side of ze castle?” Cogsworth raises an eyebrow, but plays along with the blatant disregard to the very obvious injury.

“I could ask you the same thing,” He replies coolly, and Lumiere tries a debonair grin, but it mostly comes out as a grimace. After near thirty second stare down, in which Cogsworth crosses his two functional arms and waits patiently for Lumiere to start making sense, the Frenchman relents.

“Well, someone has to bring ze Master his food, no? And I am a server, after all,” Lumiere explains, and Cogsworth is dumbfounded with how he had never noticed Lumiere’s disappearances during meal times, in the eight years they’d been stuck as appliances. Now that he actually thought about it, it made so much sense, and yet he hadn’t noticed a thing. He cursed himself for his own lack of observational skills, before getting back to the task at hand. His eyes darted to the broken arm, and Lumiere catches his gaze. “Sometimes, ze Master is…temperamental.”

It takes a moment to click, and when it does, Cogsworth is livid. He can practically feel steam rising off of his head, his vision going red at the image of the Master shoving Lumiere off of a table, or throwing him into a wall, or twisting the arm on purpose and shoving the candlebara out of his room. Lumiere’s eyes widen at his expression, and Cogsworth reels in his fury. Now is not the time, he has an injured employee and an idiotic half abusive Master to deal with, and he cares more about the former.

“Let me see your arm,” It’s not a request, and Lumiere knows that from Cogsworth’s tone, so after a moment’s hesitation Cogsworth is studying the bent and horribly twisted metal. After a second of deliberation, Cgsworth has a solution. It won’t be painless, unfortunately, and it pains _Cogsworth_ , ironically enough, to even suggest such a way of repair, but it has to be done. “Light your other hand,” It flares up immediately, and Cogsworth motions for it with his hand. “I am going to melt the bent metal with the hot flame and then fix the damage before allowing it to cool,” he says, and Lumiere’s eyes widen in minute fear, before nodding. Cogsworth looks around, and runs over to a curtain, carelessly tearing off a piece of fabric. As much as he cares for the décor of the castle, the health of his employees are more important.

“Never thought I would see ze day Cogsworth would be tearing up ze castle, “ Lumiere chuckles, and Cogsworth rolls his eyes.

“Bite down on this so you don’t scream,” He shoves the piece of fabric into Lumiere’s mouth so he can shut up, before grabbing the lit candle and unceremoniously shoving the flame into the wound. Immediately, he regrets not giving a warning as Lumiere hoarse cries are muffled by the curtain fabric, and the candelabra's wax jaw clenches harshly. Instead of dwelling on it, he works quickly, holding the flame steady through Lumiere’s shaking and waiting for the metal to become malleable. After a good thirty seconds too long for his taste and for Lumiere’s sanity Cogsworth is able to shift the arm back into place, and the moment it’s set correctly he pulls the flame away, watching in surprise as sparks of magic rise and work to cool the metal and repair small damages. He mouths a silent word of gratitude to the enchantress for giving them at least the tiniest bit of first aid magic in their breakable bodies, before turning to look at Lumiere’s face.

If a candlestick could sweat without melting, Cogsworth was sure that Lumiere would be slick with perspiration, but instead the candlebara simply looks haggard with pain and exhaustion. Cogsworth wrings his false hands, wondering if he should offer a pat of sympathy or some words, but found none. Instead, he allowed Lumiere to compose himself before giving out orders. “Rest up today and tomorrow, don’t stress the arm, and yes, that includes being around the maid,” He gives Lumiere at pointed look, and the candelabra has the decency to look sheepish. “I will handle the Master’s food tomorrow,” He continues, and at Lumiere’s alarmed expression, he waves him off. “It will be no trouble, I don’t do much besides order around others, and that can be done rather quickly,” He finishes, and that’s the end of the conversation.

When Lumiere is ready to leave the West Wing, Cogsworth helps lead him back to the rest of castle society, and he swears that every time he spares a glance in Lumiere’s direction, the candlebara is looking back at him with a smile.

* * *

The next day, the enchanted dolly tray sends Cogsworth back into the dreaded abyss of the West Wing, and the ride to the Master’s room is spent steeling himself for the inevitable blow up the Master would have at some point during his visit. Pushing the door to the Master’s room open, he cringes at the disarray everything is in, and at the lump of fur and claws and teeth that is curled up on a broken bed. “Sir, I’ve brought breakfast,” He calls, and there is no reply for a moment, but then the lump moves and turns, wide blue eyes piercing Cogsworth's soul as they gaze upon him.

“Where is Lumiere?” The Master spits, and Cogsworth replies with as much hidden fury as he’s allowed.

“I am taking over his duties for today, as he is recovering from an injury he received yesterday morning,” the Master at least looks somewhat guilty for a moment, before going to pout like a spoiled child, which he _is_ , considering what led to the enchantment. Cogsworth urges the dolly tray of food closer to the bed, and rests on the edge, in arms length of the Master’s hunched form.

“’m not hungry,” The Master mutters petulantly, despite the obvious rumbling sound emitting from his abdomen. Cogsworth sighs, and he's noticed that he does so so often that it might as well become his trademark.

“Sir, you cannot just skip mea-”

“I _SAID_ I’M NOT HUNGRY!” The roar of interruption from the Master is accompanied by a near pouncing motion, claws outstretched and teeth bared over Cogsworth’s relatively small form, and Cogsworth takes a deep breath and shoves the pure terror coursing through his body down. Usually he allows himself to show some fear, as it often alerts people that they are being rather aggressive, but this occasion calls for the cold indifference that Cogsworth has patented for battling selfish prince attitudes. He stares at the Master in the eyes for a solid minute of palpable tension as the Master calms himself, ragged, heavy breaths washing over Cogsworth as he waits, before the Master groans and sits back down, the bed creaking under his weight, reaching to grab a handful of porridge in his massive paw. As the Master eats, Cogsworth looks up at the ceiling, pretending to be contemplating something, before speaking.

“You know, I suppose I should be glad Lumiere was the one to be injured,” he begins, and the Master stops for only a moment before continuing to eat. The air is tense, but Cogsworth continues anyway. “After all, if it was Mrs.Potts, well, putting her back together would be quite the project, and I don’t think we have the glue for it,” The Master’s hackles rise, but there is a certain weight resting on his shoulders now, true guilt and understanding that Cogsworth is proud of himself for instilling. Hopefully this will stop repeat incidents, and if not, then Cogsworth would simply have to find another way to secure the safety of his employee.  He ponders taking over the job of serving the Master daily, though he imagines Lumiere would severely object. After a good five minutes of silence, save for the sloppy sounds of the Master eating, the meal is finished, and Cogsworth bows like a good servant, even though he does not feel like being one. There are many things he wants to say, many of them near crass, but he allows himself one more jab.

“Oh, and sir? If you want to relieve your temper, try the inanimate objects. They scream less.” With that, the dolly tray quite quickly wheels itself and Cogsworth out of the abyss and back to bright normality.

He never gets any firm confirmation, but the weeks following, Lumiere comes back from his trips to the West Wing with a considerably less tired expression, and Cogsworth allows himself to be satisfied.


	3. A Key, Some Oil, and A Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the rose starts to wilt, hopes begin to die, and a Beauty appears

Year nine passes in a blur, mostly uneventful and boring in the worst ways.  The castle seems to have fallen into a funk of depression, and most people can’t be bothered to lift their heads off of their respective laying places, much less clean up the decaying rooms barely held together by the enchantment.  Say what you will about the enchantress, Cogsworth muses, but she at least left magic so the castle wouldn’t fall into too big of a state of disrepair.  Whether this was for her own benefit so when the curse was ever broken she wouldn’t have to use much magic to turn the castle back to normal or she just wasn’t feeling too vindictive when she cast the spell and decided to cut the servants some slack, he couldn’t say.

Still, year nine leaves a bad taste in his mouth, if not because of the depression, but because of the shift in his animate being to something much less…alive. 

When he first was enchanted, well, it was quite the spectacle.  He’d been walking in to wonder what the racket was the night the enchantress had arrived on their doorstep, and as the Master slowly grew fur and grew in size he locked eyes with the emerald greens of the enchantress’, and in a moment his body was being thrown about, shrinking and hardening into the wooden confines of his soul, the dreaded clock that was his new body.  When he actually was able to gain his bearings, he was forced to dodge the stomping feet of the now huge and beastly Prince, who roared tearfully and angrily and demanded no one disturb him before running off into his fortress of solitude; the West Wing.

At the time, his body was flexible, the closest it had ever been to being like a human body.  He could turn much easier, twist and flex about more like flesh than wood, but by the time nine years had passed, he had gotten to the point where it was almost as inflexible as actual wood.  Twisting back was a thing of the past, and the four peg legs that he at one point could move individually now were stiff so that he had to mostly waddle.  It was a terrifying reminder of what would happen should the rose wilt.  Some of the servants had already turned to inanimate objects.  The vanity, a women obsessed with her looks.  The wall, a man as dumb as a brick.  The bootlicker suck up, a doormat.  There were days spent mourning over the loss of their sentience, but now that he realized that they could truly lose their humanity, a part of him wondered who else was gone, and how many objects were inanimate since their creation and how many were lost friends.

That was a chilling thought, so Cogsworth pushed it away.

Anyway, back to the topic of year nine. 

The day of his ninth birthday under the spell was a regular one.  Most birthdays weren’t celebrated during the years of enchantment, mostly out of a wish to believe that years weren’t being lost, but some people did celebrate such occasions.  People, who were well liked, such as Lumiere, were thrown small parties.  Cogsworth never particularly divulged his birthday information, though he could tell that Lumiere somehow just knew, and he wasn’t well liked enough for anyone to care about his birthday.  While the truth stung, it was the truth, as most people thought him as a wet blanket or strict rule follower, which was mostly true anyhow.  On his ninth birthday during the spell, however, a change occurred.

He had been going to down the steps away from the upper east wing, as he’d left the library after reading a variety of books.  Over the course of nine years he’d nearly read all of them, but it was still his favorite past time.  At that moment , his legs locked up as he was stepping down, and he found himself leaning forward and crashing painfully down the stairs, hitting the floor with a thud and a crack.  With a high pitched yelp, Cogsworth called out to the others in the castle, but after a few minutes of shouts, he stopped trying.  They must all be busy, or out of earshot.  Either way, he had a conundrum.

He couldn’t move.

Other than the ability to speak and move his eyes, though vision wasn’t particularly useful since he was staring straight at the ground, he was paralyzed.  Even the ticking of his clock had gone still and silent, leaving him in maddening stillness with a distinct lack of sound to further drive him into his thoughts.  Wonderful, just wonderful!  Now, not only was he a literal object, but now he couldn’t even move!  Brilliant!

After cursing the enchantress vehemently, using some expletives that Cogsworth had forgotten that he’d known, fear settled in.  Had he started turning inanimate?  Would he soon lose his speech?  Had he broken something?  It wasn’t as if he could tell.  Oh of all the days, of course it was his birthday!  Why had he ever thought his life could be easy on his birthday?

Hours passed, though it could have been minutes or even seconds, the lack to ticking left Cogsworth without a way to measure time, as well as an unsettling lack of noise that made his thoughts more prevalent.

When he finally heard a noise, it was the familiar sound of Lumiere’s movement.

“Lumiere!” There was the noise of an abrupt stop after his shout, and then frantic movements forward, which was followed by a wax hand on his back.

“Cogsworth?” Lumiere’s voice was filled with confusion, and if he could move his arms, Cogsworth would be waving them about to make his struggles known.

“I can’t move!  Pick me up!” He opts instead to bark out orders, his specialty, and after a moment of Lumiere chuckling to himself, of which Cogsworth pointedly ignores, the world rights itself, and Cogsworth blinks in the bright glare of Lumiere’s candlelight.

“You know, Monsieur, you are heavier than you look,” Lumiere jabs, and Cogsworth glares with vigor, mouth drawn into a straight line.  As soon as the seriousness of the situation seems to sink in, Lumiere’s expression sobers.  “What do you mean, you cannot move?”

“What do you think that means?!  I’m paralyzed!” So, perhaps Cogsworth might have been acting a tad overdramatic at that point, but he’d been staring at the floor for god knows how long.  He was a bit testy.

“Well, mon ami, let us see what is wrong,” The response is accompanied by hands grabbing at Cogsworth’s sides, feeling him all over as if that would find the source of the issue.  Cogsworth supposes he should be glad he couldn’t blush.

“Hey, watch that there!”

“I am simply trying to-”

“Your candles better not ever be lit, Lumiere, I swear to-”

“Monsieur, please, I cannot figure out with all this talking-.”

“Don’t you _dare_ open that door-”

“AHA!”

With a flourish, Cogsworth finds himself turned around, Lumiere’s candle hands placed on his back.  “You have a…key?” A chill runs up Cogsworth's back.

“Please tell me that has always been there,” He mutters faintly, feeling dizzy, and somehow lightheaded.  Lumiere makes a few noises, as if he’s trying to find the right words to say.

“A-ah, well, perhaps it was simply something we had not noticed before?”  The question at the end of the phrase is all Cogsworth needs to begin to panic.  He’s going to be a novelty, a-a decoration, half dead and silent for the rest of the spells course and the castle is going to fall into ruins because everyone else is incompetent and-

The sound of winding gears startles him from his thoughts, and he realizes that Lumiere is turning his key like he’s a windup toy.  If he wasn’t noticing the feeling coming back into his limbs, he might be affronted.

After a few turns, Lumiere lets go, and Cogsworth turns around, shocked, glad, and horrified all at once.

“I-I’m a…windup clock?!”  Lumiere winces at the near shout, and Cogsworth frantically reaches back to try and pull the damn key out.  Awful enchantress turning him into a dependent mess, he has much better things to do than ask servants to wind him up.  And who knows what the time ratio for each turn was?  He could be walking around in his quarters and then be frozen for hours until someone took the time to find him, and it would be hours because no one ever wanted to find him!  Anger bubbles up madly, and his eyes are wide and furious to the point that Lumiere is backing away, hands raised in an almost defensive position.  At the look in Lumiere’s eyes, Cogsworth stops.  With a sigh, he rubs his temples, or least where his temples would be if he had his actual head.

“Cogsworth?” Lumiere’s voice is soft, and comforting.  Cogsworth appreciates the kind tone.

“Why me?” He all but moans, hands raised at the sky.  “Why us?!”

“We did perhaps have some role in raising the master, yes?  It is our fault he did not know how to treat others,” Lumiere replies, and again, Cogsworth sighs.

“I suppose you are right,” He says, feeling old and rusted.  Nine years, and on his ninth birthday under the spell he gets more inanimate.  The enchantress must be cackling at his misery.  Lumiere places a candle on his shoulder. 

“I will keep this a secret, if you like?  I can help in the morning to wind you up and again before bed,” He suggests, and Cogsworth smiles wearily.

“That would be appreciated, good friend.  Thank you.”

Lumiere grins.

“But of course, Cogsworth.  Oh!” Cogsworth looks over to the candlebara, whose grin has grown mischievous.

“Happy Birthday!”

Cogsworth groans.

* * *

As year ten begins to roll in, Cogsworth finally starts to get somewhat used to the routine of Lumiere barging into his room every morning and winding up the key on his back.  Each turn gets somewhere from thirty minutes to an hour, so twenty turns later and Cogsworth is out and about, following Lumiere as the candelabra greets each face with a grin that is the dichotomy of the others expressions.  While Cogsworth has never prided himself on being able to lift spirits, he does try to give the servants a kind smile while waddling past.

However, there is something the whole castle seems to notice, and that is the faint, but squeaky creak of Lumiere’s joints as he moves.  Whenever he opens his arms up in a flourish, there’s a creak.  When he bends down to kiss Babette, a creak.  People begin to wonder, is Lumiere fading?  Is he losing his spark?  Losing hope of survival?  It’s sending the castle into barely held together panic.  If the beacon of hope, the light in the darkness, the excitable flamboyant charmer was getting sent into an inanimate form, what would happen to them, the hopeless moping crowd?  Cogsworth figures it is all simply from age, as well as the wilting of the rose, but no one even bothers to think for once, much less be reasonable.

Which is why he finds himself climbing up a high shelf for oil.  It was used for tiny gears in the music boxes the Master had as a child-most of them are destroyed now, or rusted beyond repair-and Cogsworth thinks that it can solve this conundrum.  While he isn’t inclined to care much about the petty squabbles of his overemotional servants, he’d rather they live their last year of sentience happy than scared.  Though they might get scared simply by the impending, quite literal deadline, but he likes to think he can at least prolong the inevitable. 

Back to the task at hand, he struggles to reached the high perched bottle precariously set on the top shelf.  He doesn’t dare look down, for fear of terror settling in, and he tries not to think about how his feet(?) barely have footholds.  His mitten like hand grabs the oil container, and in his moment of joy he slips, and falls with a terrible crack onto the floor.

About ten minutes pass before he feels even able to move, and even then pain shoots up his wooden spine as he gets up off the floor.  Luckily, the oil canister hadn’t spilt everywhere, so the endeavor wasn’t for nothing, but he would be sore for the next week. 

The key rattles in his gears in his back area, and he shakes himself to hopefully set things into place before beginning the trek back to the main room.

He finds Lumiere prancing around, those horrible creaks grating to the ears as he moves, but the candelabra's smile never falters, greeting people and offering dances to Babette, the general sweet things Lumiere does to lift spirits and heal damaged hearts. 

It only takes a few moments for Cogsworth to have had enough.

“Come with me,” He says, grabbing Lumiere by the shoulder and dragging him out of the room, ignoring protests of the candelabra, shoving the man out of the room and shutting the door tight behind him.  He picks up the little oil applicator and gets to work.

“Cogsworth-”

“Hush, let me fix that incessant creaking sound!”

Lumiere falls silent as Cogsworth works, and when everything seems to be functional, Cogsworth pushes Lumiere back into the main room and stalks off, neither in the mood for people nor the questions that would likely have arised from his very abrupt entrance and disappearance.

The castle seems a bit brighter now that Lumiere’s movements are fluid, and Cogsworth finds the back pain is worth it.

* * *

 Year ten fades with wilting petals, and the night Maurice stumbles into the castle is bitterly cold a dark with dead hopes.  Cogsworth begs, pleads practically with Lumiere to have the man leave, because he knows the Master well enough to know how cruel the beast is, but alas, the two watch with saddened, but not at all surprised faces as the Master drags Maurice off into the dungeon.

Then…the girl.

Belle.

She is quite the beauty, Cogsworth will admit.  Headstrong, stubborn, things required when dealing with the toddler like mind of a spoiled bra-err, the Master.  Though, none of that really mattered when it came to Cogsworth’s judgment of her.  In all honesty, what really sells him on her being the one is that she is brave.

Bravery is rare; Cogsworth admires it, and knows that even the Master does.

Lumiere is the personable when it comes to Belle’s interactions with him and the candlebara, but after ten years of isolation, Cogsworth is nowhere near used to talking to strangers, not that he ever really was. 

Yet, there are moments where Belle is absent, and those moments are filled with this air of hope that brings upon…other things.  Like love.

Babette and Lumiere are after each other at any moment they can reach the other, and their giggles and chuckles echo throughout the castle.  It irritates Cogsworth to no end, because do they not have some events to focus on?  Like the fact that they need to get the Master and Belle to fall in love before the rose, which is wilting at an alarming rate, dies!  But no, the two insist on being all ‘lovey-dovey’, if you can even call it that when all they do is kiss.

Though, irritation really isn’t the right word when it comes to how Cogsworth feels.  He can’t really find the word for it either.  He’s angry, but there’s something else there that he can’t quite place.  Regardless, the whole castle is brimming with hope and excitement, and while Cogsworth would like to believe that things will work out, experience with the Master sends him into pessimism.

Dinner is quite the spectacle.

“Music?!” He cries when he hears Lumiere’s words, but soon he’s swept up in the excitement, finding himself in pie and jello and all sorts of places, flying around without much control until he can finally get into the movement  of the song and dance.  Though, he can’t dance for long before Lumiere knocks him aside.

Narcissist.

Though, Cogsworth has to admit himself prideful when Belle stokes his ego on his knowledge of the castle.  He hadn’t even needed to look anything up over the ten years of enchantment, he’s known it all for years beforehand. 

“And that was the last time we moved a stone of that size in that hallway,” The story he tells her is actually quite exciting.  They’d been moving a stone for the stone carver from across the castle, when they’d found that the floor in the particular east hallway was weak in comparison to the other floors.  It hadn’t been noticeable before because when people walked down the hallway the floor seemed fine.  However, once the large stone had begun to be moved down the hallway, the floor had groaned and movement had halted.  In the end, Cogsworth had moved some of the decorative stone pillars from the room below and instead used them as load bearing pillars, and the crisis was averted.

Though he is sure said story is quite entertaining, Belle instead seems allured by the mysterious and near untouched West Wing.

Lumiere at that point at least knows where to draw the line, and from there Cogsworth and the candelabra work to dissuade her, but by the time they notice she’s not following them, it’s too late.

She’s gone.

Cogsworth finds himself staring at the half open door for a near five minutes before Lumiere grasps his shoulder.  He turns around, and he can’t tell what the expression on his face is, but when Lumiere sees it, the candelabra’s gaze turns pitying.

An hour or so later, Belle comes back, and the castle springs back to life.

As the servants clean up the ballroom for the dinner, Cogsworth watches from afar, sitting on a railing above the swishing brooms that somehow act as mops and listening t the upbeat tune of human again that trails throughout the halls like a battle cry against despair.  Lumiere hops up with him.

“How are you, Monsieur?”  He asks, and Cogsworth actually decides to smile.  It startles Lumiere, and Cogsworth hadn’t realized that he was such a downtrodden individual so that a smile would cause his…well, he supposed after ten years he could call Lumiere a friend, surprised. 

“We should hope to be human again soon,” He replies with plenty of joy in his voice, because after ten years of being gears and wood he can’t wait to be flesh and blood again, and he can feel the energy buzzing in the castle because of the same wish.  Lumiere grins back at him after a moment, jubilant.

“Oui! I always knew some Monsieur or Mademoiselle would change ze Master’s heart,” Cosgworth nods in agreement, before stopping.

“Monsieur?  What do you mean by that?” He asks, and Lumiere gets wide eyes, before glancing away.

“Nothing,” He says, and if Cogsworth knew any better, he’d say Lumiere was disappointed with him.  Odd.

No matter.

They have things to do, and a romance to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cut this short cause if I tried to make it longer I would never finish it so i hope you liked! Over 3000 words!!! I am tired jeez i need a nap lmao


	4. Backslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone is a paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this pretty quickly, but I'm happy with how it turned out! Also, I didn't say it before, but I would just like to thank you guys for all your support! Every comment i get makes me go !!!! and I really appreciate you all taking the time to tell me that you love what i write!!  
> Now, let's hope you still support me after this chapter, cause boy, is this one a doozy! ;3c

The dinner is going well, Cogsworth will admit.  The Master truly likes this girl, if his attitude shift is any indication of his feelings.  There is, of course, the nervousness that only someone with the mind of a prepubescent child can have about being in love with someone, but with Lumiere’s help Cogsworth is able to push the Master in the right direction, hopefully towards true love. 

Though, that expression grinds Cogsworth gears, pun _certainly_ not intended.  What does true love even _mean?!_   Often marriages between royalty, from what he’s seen and read, are simply for status, and they learned to love each other just fine.  If the two hated each other, they worked around it, because they were responsible adults.  Furthermore, love could be put in many categories, and of course Cogsworth knew the enchantress meant romantic love, but that’s often unattainable for the kindest of people!

~~_Namely him._ ~~

Anyhow, the waltz the Master and Belle perform is stunning, what with the Master dressed up quite nicely and Belle being in the beautiful yellow gown the Madame had chosen, but there was that sting of not quite anger that Cogsworth can’t place or name.  Well, no matter, there are of course still things to attend to, like the cleaning up, the servant assignments for the next day, the dodging of the many, many in love couples that are taking the Master’s initiative into their own hands, or lips, more precisely.  After that mess is handled, he waddles back over to the Master with Lumiere and Mrs. Potts to congratulate the Master on his romantic endeavors when-

“I let her go.”

Many emotions flit through Cogsworth’s head when he hears the Master’s despondent admission.  Anger is prevalent, because of course the Master would only think of himself, never mind the fact that everyone Cogsworth has ever known is going to be turned into inanimate objects for all eternity because the Master had grown a heart for one woman and no one else.  Confusion, because he can’t figure out why said head over heels man would ever let the person he loves so dear disappear, when with every prized possession the Master ever cherished was coveted religiously.  Though, he supposes later that Belle is not a possession.  Finally, of course, there is sadness, because the hope that had built up just a few days is left to shatter like a dropped vase, crushed to dust under the shoes of passerby people. 

Unfortunately, there is little time to actually be sad, considering that in the four or so hours that Belle is gone she manages to amass a mob that is bloodthirsty and wild, not that most servants that are complaining.  After all this whole business with Belle, they’re now fighting a village?  It’s the most excitement they’ve had in the castle in years.  He can see the coat hanger bashing someone over the head as he gets on some old military regalia.  He had been in a war at a very young age, decorated of course, before becoming the head of the castle, and while it wasn’t the most fun to see dead soldiers, Cogsworth found he had no guilt in using a good old fashioned sword on the rapscallions in his home.  He looks around for a target, before his eyes lock on a friend in distress.

Lumiere has his back to the wall, eyes wide in terror and shaking like a leaf as the main leader of the mob’s lackey sticks a hot flame in his face.  Cogsworth can remember quite clearly the first time Lumiere had gotten too close to a fire in his early years as a candelabra.  It had been quite the ordeal, with many women sobbing over their supposed lost love while Lumiere had tried desperately to recollect himself, considering how much he had melted.  For some odd reason, Cogsworth blames magic; Lumiere’s own fire never melted his wax, while fire from other sources could melt him at an alarming rate, as evidenced by the scene before him.

Cogsworth can see Lumiere’s fear so clearly, as well as the sick glee of the perpetrator of the near murder’s face, and at the sight, something bright hot and dangerous crawls up his chest region up into his head, and from there he makes a plan.

“Tally ho!” Is his battle cry, sliding down the banister in such an impulsive manner that in any other situation he would be mortified at the mere suggestions of such an idea.  Down he slides, mini sword pointed forward until a screech of pain declares him victorious.

While the buffoon goes off to lick his wounds, Cogsworth hops down to check up on Lumiere, who seems to be collecting himself. 

“Are you alright, Lumiere?” He asks, eyes darting about to scan for any attackers.  Lumiere brushes himself off, fiddles with his wax, before looking up at Cogsworth to respond.

His jaw drops in wide eyed surprise.

Cogsworth raises a brow, and then chuckles, straightening the sash of medals and fiddling with the oddly shaped hat.  “Oh, my outfit is a bit odd, yes?  I find it fitting considering the battle scene going on,” At that moment, a man gets thrown across the room, shrieking like a banshee.  When Cogsworth still doesn’t get a response, his smile drops.  “Did that fellow I speared melt your brain as well as part of your head?” He asks, and that snaps Lumiere out of whatever spell he is under.

“You got rid of zat man?” He asks, and Cogsworth puffs up with pride, adrenaline still having him buzzing with energy.  With a self satisfied smirk, he replies.

“Why of course, slid down the banister and everything.  Haven’t had this much fun since I was in the army!” Lumiere is staring at him as if he’s grown to heads, before he grins with fondness and something else Cogsworth doesn’t recognize.  After a beat, Cogsworth turns to the chaos.  “Well, we ought to get these intruders out of home.   Tally ho!” With the same battle cry, he’s off, and he hears moments later Lumiere’s shout of excitement as he too joins the battle.

* * *

After the villagers are sent running with their tails between their legs, Cogsworth finds a metal limb wrapping around his shoulder, and he grins over at Lumiere as the last drips of adrenaline fall out of his system, before chills run up everyone’s spine at the roar of pain echoing through the castle.

They all speed through the hallways, fearing the worst for their near surrogate son, and Murphy’s law kicks in quite quickly as they find the Master laying nearly dead on the floor, head cradled in Belle’s arms. 

The moment feels far to intimate for any of them to be watching, but Cogsworth can’t look away, frozen by horror and curiosity.  The Master brushes a lock of Belle’s hair out of her face, and Belle leans down to press her forehead against his.

“I love you,” She whispers.

Silence, and then…

Bursting forth like fireworks from within the Master’s chest, magic pulses to life around the Master’s body, lifting him into the air and shifting him into something so familiar that Cogsworth can’t believe his eyes.  Belle watches in awe with the rest of them as the light show sends beams of energy out into the sky, before the Master, no longer hairy nor beastly, descends to the floor, feet that are no longer paws stumbling to gain footing after having a non human physique for so long.

Cogsworth does not get to see the moment Belle and the Master share, nor the kiss, because at that moment a warmth in his chest grows hot and glows blinding, exploding from within him without warning.

He steps onto the floor with two feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world, staring down at true palms made of skin and flesh, feeling his hair brush against his neck and the stringy mustache, now lopsided, on his face.  After a few moments of walking, he stumbles, so unused to having… _legs?_

His hands are not brass, his body is not wood.  He towers over the floor in a way he hasn’t in years.  He’s wearing clothes, feeling fabric on skin for the first time in ten years-

He’s human again.

The realization is heart stopping.

Joy overcomes him to the point of tears in his eyes, and he walks out-actually _walks_ \- onto the balcony where the Master and Belle are holding each other in their arms, and he looks around, sees the dog and cat chasing each other about, blurs of fur and not fabric, and Mrs.Potts is there with Chip and-

_Lumiere._

He knows that spindly tall Frenchman’s figure anywhere, remembers that same skinny, lanky servant bounding through halls after rendezvous with the maids, Cogsworth sprinting after him, shouting out a lecture the idiot had never paid attention to.  In three strides, he’s lifting Lumiere up off of the ground, hugging him with all his might because they’re _human,_ they _made it,_ and they’re _alive._

_They’re **alive.**_

That night, Cogsworth stares at his reflection in his room for hours, reintroducing his eyes to the visage of his own face, memorizing his wrinkles and mustache and chin and clothing and everything that was stolen ten years ago.  A part of him is afraid to blink, afraid that if he does that when he opens his eyes again he’ll be staring back at a clock and that it will all turn out to be a horrible, terrible dream.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he distinctly remembers a familiar voice calling his name, dragging him to his bed, and tucking him in, closing the door quietly so and cutting off the candlelight from the hallway.

His dreams are a reality that night.  He’s human.

* * *

Of course, gaining your humanity back after having nearly none of it for ten years has its consequences.  Most servants take it in stride, full of excitement and pep as they go back to their normal duties of cleaning out the magically refurbished castle.  Cogsworth, while he’d like to say that he’s very flexible; can get caught up in routine.

He keeps expecting Lumiere to wind his gears in the morning, for one, and he often forgets to sleep, or eat, or take care of himself in any way other than bathing.  This is quite the conundrum, but for a while he manages.  A few hours of rest there, a meal here, and he can ignore the hunger and exhaustion by throwing himself into his duties.  He’d said that when he was human again that he’d retire early, but at this point he doesn’t trust anyone to take care of the castle without him.  After all, that was what he was good at, managing duties, right?

Prince Adam-he has them call him Prince instead of Master now, something about how Master was had bad connotations to it, which Cogsworth agreed with-notices sometimes when it comes to Cogsworth poor habits, but he was never one to try and be a friend to most of the servants.  The closest the Prince is to any servant is Mrs.Potts, and perhaps Chip, but other than that he keeps his distance. 

The other servants aren’t very observant, though sometimes the maids comment on the bags beneath his eyes, to which Cogsworth waves them off.  He barely needed sleep as a clock, though sleep was necessary, and eating was rare for ten years, if at all.  Besides, he was doing his job, wasn’t he?  That’s all that matters in the end.

Lumiere, however, doesn’t quite appreciate his attitude toward himself, and Cogsworth finds himself unable to get rid of the nuisance of a friend.

“Mon ami, have you eaten today?”

“Monsieur, you look tired.  Perhaps some rest is in order?”

“Cogsworth, are you feeling alright?”

Constantly, Cogsworth has to practically run away from the persistent worrywart.  It’s an odd shift in dynamic, most of the time Cogsworth is the one worrying, and he does worry; it’s a wonder his hair isn’t gray, but Lumiere is the one who constantly asking questions, trying to get Cogsworth to do something that the head of the castle can’t place.

Of course, it rather is shoved in his face when he collapses some two months after the whole enchantment ordeal ends, waking up in the small infirmary to the worried faces of the Prince, Belle, Mrs.Potts, and of course Lumiere.  The candelabra-no, he’s not a candle anymore-looks at him with a mixture of concern and exasperation.

“Must you work yourself down to ze bone, Cogsworth?” He asks, and Cogsworth sputters in trying to articulate a reply, because it’s not as if he wanted to collapse in the middle of the morning announcements!  He sneaks out of the infirmary after everyone leaves and begins to give out order again, much to the servants chagrin.

“And here I thought we would have a day without the _time crazy neat freak_ ,” He hears one of the more sour servants grumble under their breath, and he reddens at the insult.  He is not _that_ much of a neat freak; he just likes things on time and in order!  Is that too much to ask?  With huff, he stalks to another part of the castle on trembling legs, ready to give out more instructions.

After about fifteen minutes of moving about the large expanse of the castle, he makes his way to the kitchen to oversee the menu for lunch and dinner, seeing as he missed breakfast.  When he walks towards the kitchen, however, he overhears a conversation.

“I do not understand how in the over _ten years_ he has been here, we have no clue what his favorite dish is!” Lumiere’s voice is full irritation, much to Cogsworth’s surprise.  It is a rare occasion for Lumiere to actually get angry, and as such Cogsworth begins to eavesdrop to figure out how such an anomalous occasion occurred. 

“Well, he never really eats with us, most servants don’t.  Even before the curse, he was very reserved and private,” What on earth is the Prince doing in the kitchen?  This whole little conversation is growing odder by the second.

“The man does like his tea, yes he does.  Chamomile would be good to calm him down to rest, though you can’t go wrong with some earl grey or lavender,” Mrs.Potts adds, and Cogsworth begins to have a sneaking suspicion on who the subject of this conversation is.

“How has zis man even lived?  He does not speak to us outside work; he does not even remember to take care of himself.  What does he even do when not working?”  Lumiere questions, and when Cogsworth braves a peek inside the kitchen he finds that the expression on everyone’s faces is concern and confusion.

“Well, I know he does like to read.  He’s often in the library picking out a book or two when I come in,” Belle interjects.

What kind of motley group of confidants is this, Cogsworth wonders.

“Yes, but even you Mademoiselle, who loves ze books passionately, still take ze time to eat and talk to othzers, yes?  Cogsworth iz like a ghost in zis castle!”  Cogsworth’s heart sinks when it is confirmed who they’re speaking of.

The nerve!  As if he isn’t a fully grown adult who can take care of himself!  Sure, he’d gotten a bit off track, but that was beside the point!

“Well, Lumiere,” Belle starts, a question ripe on her tongue.  “What friends does Cogsworth have to talk to?”

Silence.

“Well, I always thought I was at least a little more than acquaintance with the man, and Madame La Grande Bouche seemed to like him,” Mrs.Potts doesn’t mention that the Madame is far gone, out to pursue her music career in opera.

“Ehh, and Cogsworth and I are friends, yes?” Lumiere’s questioning tone sends a chill down his spine.  Had he really been so distant that now Lumiere questions their odd, but true friendship?

“Who else?” Belle asks, expecting more names to be given.

Silence.

The emptiness of words sends a pit to boil in Cogsworth’s stomach, and he too racks his head for names.  Surely he has more people who enjoy his company?  Right?

His brain gives out no names, and neither do his two confirmed friends.

“Oh,” Belle mutters aloud, and Cogsworth finds himself in an emotional toil of hurt and anger, because why does he even need friends?  They’re aren’t useful, simply people who he’d talk to more.  The servant’s comment from earlier comes back like whiplash, smacking him the back of the head so that he starts, leaning back into the wall to support his heavy heart.

Is he really so unlikable?

Moments of derision from servants come back to haunt him, barraging his thoughts with harsh glares sent his way and mean comments whispered through the halls when he’d walk past.  How people would move out of the way when he moved towards them, how they would 'forget' to invite him to small gatherings, how they hated the way he gave orders.

_People-!_

Like shutters on windows, the light in his eyes fall dark.  Cold ice creeps into his chest and sends the hot feeling of embarrassment and pain out of his system.  No, of course he doesn’t _care_ about people, why would he?  Annoyances, that’s what they are, and he’s far too busy with his work and his own enjoyment of his life to deal with annoyances like _social interaction_.  If taking care of himself would get these annoyances off of his back, fine, he’ll do what they want, as long as they leave him _alone_.

Alone is a paradise.

The conversation that he’d been eavesdropping on is still lapsed in silence, so Cogsworth straightens his outfit and barges in.

“Lumiere,” He says with a cold voice and a dead stare.  There are so many thoughts jumbling about in his head, so many questions he wants to ask and emotions he wants to share, but he shuts them all far, far away with that cold indifference he cherishes so much, and instead does his job.  “Please be sure to have the cook have the meals ready on time for lunch and dinner.  I’ll be around later to pick up lunch,” With that, he turns on his heel and walks straight-shouldered and stiffly out.

Feelings, the bane of his existence.  What a mistake he had made to try and let himself be overcome with emotions.  A preposterous endeavor, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He’s sure of it.


	5. You didn't know that you fell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we hit the breaking point  
> Here we learn some more about magic  
> Here is where we begin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, here we go  
> This chapter is certainly a slap to the face, if you know what I mean ;3c  
> (Thank you for the kind reviews! Also, we broke the 10k word count!!! Ahh!!!!)  
> Welp my enthusiam died for this considering one of my irl friends told me I was being a btich about this fic and then said it's shitty b4 actually reading this ahah  
> All because I said 1 rude thing and apologized for it but I can't get mad because he's a good person and he'll probabaly cry or hurt himself if I do  
> this is fine  
> ANYWAY ENJOY THE CHAPTER SRY FOR BEING A TERRIBLE HUMAN BEING AHAHA

He doesn’t see the moment of impact, the way Lumiere’s face snaps to the side with the force of a sharply moving hand.  He doesn’t hear the gasps over the loud Smack that echoes through the ballroom, like shockwaves into his body sending him reeling.  He does not see the wide eyes of the Prince, of Belle, of the whole castle staring at the scene that plays out like a prerecorded episode, the dramatic irony of everyone but the players knowing where the story is going.

Wait.

Rewind for a moment.

* * *

Cogsworth does not change his routine or demeanor much, considering the dramatic shift in emotional state.  He simply, talks less-though the smile more does not occur-reserves his words for orders.  He goes through the library and reads when he is done with his work, ignoring the people who come to speak to him-there’s not that many, remember?-and instead finding comfort in words.  Words are better than people.  They don’t pretend to like you, or talk behind your back, or become confusing messes that he can’t make sense of until all he can do is pretend that he can understand before they find out he’s an idiot-

Anyway, reading is a pastime he can fall into.  As long as he has his books, the world can crumble around him, because he’ll have his own fantasy world to hang onto.

He can hear the servants whisper about him through the halls, how he barely talks, how he’s always moving somewhere no one can find him, how his eyes look as dead as the Prince’s were when he was a beast, but Cogsworth ignores them easily, looses himself in paragraphs and disappears into chapters.

Unfortunately, he can no longer grab food from the kitchens and head to his room to eat, because the Prince has adopted a new policy.  All servants eat with him and Belle in the ballroom.  About thirteen tables fill up the room, and they don’t move unless there’s an event. 

Mrs. Potts, Chip, Maurice, Lumiere, Belle, the Prince, and Cogsworth all share a table as the respective heads of the servant departments, with Belle sitting on one side of the Prince and Cogsworth sitting on the other side.  It’s awkward, because Lumiere tries to strike up conversation, and while often the topic picks up, it dies the moment the Frenchman tries to include Cogsworth.

Cogsworth, on his own part, is making sure to eat and sleep enough so as to make the others stop badgering him.  He spends his days dodging the people who actually want to speak with him while also trying to find ways to make them stop worrying so much so he can be left alone.

Of course, his life is never easy.

“Mon ami, what iz ze matter with you?  You barely come out of your room anymore!” Lumiere questions him, and Cogsworth keeps his eyes and most of his attention on the book in his hands.

“Well, yes, very good,” He mumbles out a response, and Lumiere mutters something in French under his breath.  From what Cogsworth can catch it’s curses.

“Cogsworth, listen to me!  When was ze last time you shared tea with Mrs.Potts?  Or took a walk in ze garden?  Or started up a conversation?” Cogsworth finds himself growing more and more irritated by the minute, eyes desperately trying to scan the page and process the information while his brain works to filter in Lumiere’s words.

“That’s no business of yours, Lumiere,” he replies, and Lumiere slaps a hand to his forehead.

“What do you mean by zat Cogsworth?  I am your friend, am I not.  It iz my duty to-”

Bitter tasting and awful words fly out of Cogsworth’s mouth before he can snap his lips shut.

“Friends?  HA!  Rubbish,” He says with a scowl, inside reeling with the repercussions of that statement, because he hadn’t wanted to say that, he didn’t even know why he had said that, but he couldn’t take them back now.  He snorts derisively, the final nail in the coffin, and Lumiere looks…odd.  He looks like someone is strangling him, neck strained and jaw clenched as if he’s struggling to find words.

“My mistake,” Is the final sentence uttered between the two for that day, because after Lumiere says the two words he just about runs off.  Silence pervades the hallway they both were once occupying, and the weight of Cogsworth’s words, and the meaning behind them, reverberates in his skull like a taunting chant.

He stands still, looking at the corner Lumiere turns on to disappear, for a very long time.  He thinks about the things he could have said differently, thinks about the way Lumiere’s face turned sour, but not angry, only sad, hurt, broken, and with dull eyes that held none of the luminescence that came with the man’s name.

He turns back to his book, and slowly walks to his room, something vile creeping its way up his back like thorny brambles, encasing him in what feels like guilt.

* * *

That night, his dreams are especially strange.  He finds himself falling, but not fast, a slow descent, where all he can hear are words he wishes he’d never spoken, and faces, that expression that burns in his soul and sends his heart to below his chest and into his stomach with visceral discomfort.

A green dress sways in front of him, and he swims through air towards it, drawn to its color and familiarity; why his brain had created the image escapes him as he swims forward.  The woman it drapes off of is impossibly tall, towering over the world with light green glimmer shining down upon the planet, and Cogsworth reaches out with a near desperate hand, fingers stretched as far as his bones with allow.  He grasps the fabric, and it’s buzzing with some sort of energy, humming a tune like it’s warm and alive.  He looks up.

Emerald eyes.

The ceiling comes into view with a gasp as he startles awake, panting at the memories that assault his mind from those eyes; those evil, awful, terrifying eyes that he can feel piercing his soul with vibrant anger.

The small bit of light coming in from the barely drawn open curtain shows that he’s up a little early, so he decides to take a walk. 

Near the kitchen, he hears talk.

“-at do you zink I did wrong, Mrs.Potts?” Comes the rather despondent voice of Lumiere, and Cogsworth freezes, mind taking a backseat, thoughts screaming at him to leave but legs refusing to move.

“Well, dearie, the poor man seems to having some trouble.  I’m sure he was just taking it out on you,” Mrs. Potts replies, taking a sip of tea.  Lumiere for a moment reaches for his cup with his wrists, before Mrs.Potts reaches out and places a hand on tp of his.  Lumiere blushes, embarrassed, and Cogsworth can’t remember ever seeing the man act this…openly.  Why was he like this with only Mrs. Potts?  If he had been so certain that they were friends, why not try and talk to Cogsworth instead of some old crone?

Okay, Cogsworth scolds himself for insulting Mrs.Potts, but still!

“My apologies, it iz, ehh, force of habit,” Lumiere says, before picking up his cup the correct way and taking a sip.

“It’s quite alright, we’ve been through quite the ordeal, and being human does take some getting used to, considering it’s only been two months,” Mrs.Potts is quick to reassure Lumiere of no embarrassment, and after a moment, she speaks up again.  “Now, as I was saying, Cogsworth is having a rough time.  I can see it in his eyes.  Something’s gone terribly wrong with him, though I don’t even think he notices it.”

“Well, I know zat, he looks a dead man walking!  I don’t understand why I feel so…twisted up!  I have never felt zis way about a man, at least, not for zis long,” Lumiere mutters, and Cogsworth notices that even though Lumiere seems to be confused, it sounds as if he knows exactly what he feels, and he crafting his words carefully as if to hint at the truth.  Mrs.Potts gets a knowing look in her eye.

“Lumiere, have you thought of finding a partner?  Someone to settle down with?” She asks, and Lumiere perks up at her with a surprised expression.

“You know-”

Cogsworth’s knuckles rap against the wooden door without thought, and he jumps just as much nd Lumiere and Mrs.Potts do at the sound.

“Yes, hello?” Mrs.Potts calls, and Cogsworth opens the door.

Lumiere’s face goes pale, though Mrs.Potts manages to save face.  “Ah, Cogsworth, what are doing up this early?  You don’t often wake up till around eight,” Cogsworth straightens his posture before replying.

“I had a rubbish dream, so I went around for a walk, until I heard voices,” Lumiere’s expression relaxes.  Cogsworth looks down at the small table sitting between Lumiere and Mrs.Potts, and for some reason, anger starts to bubble forth, hot and burning.  Why did Lumiere come to Mrs.Potts?  Why are they constantly talking about him behind his back?  Why are they being so _secretive?!_

_Gah!_

Clenching his fists, he struggles to control his anger, this mess of turmoil coming to a terrible head in the most inappropriate of places.  He wants to-to _smash_ something, to scream, but he can’t.

“Cogsworth?  Are you alright?” Mrs.Potts’ brow is furrowed, and Lumiere has that scrunched up expression of worry that Cogsworth _hates._

“I-I’m fine,” He manages to speak without sounding as if he’s about to explode.  “I must get ready for work,” He throws that excuse out before running off, hoping the exertion of energy will make his anger dissipate.

It doesn’t.

* * *

The rest of the day has him on a rampage, shouting orders and being on his last nerve at any given moment.  The servants, sensing his lack of patience, work quickly and try their best not to bother him.  Cogsworth, at the very least, does not scream at the new servant they had taken in when the poor young man slowly walks up and timidly asks for a broom, having not one to be found around the castle where he had looked.

“Wait right here,  I know where to find one,” His voice is full of exasperation, but Cogsworth tries not to sound too rude, even with the horrid mood he’s in.

He stalks off to the broom closet in the West Wing, which is unfortunately still mostly off limits because the Prince likes his privacy-Belle is helping him with that- muttering curses to himself, and he’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t hear the odd noises coming from said closet until he throws open the door.

It’s a mess of limbs.  There’s the distinct sound of lips sucking on skin and there are clothes strewn about on the floor, and unfortunately it doesn’t take long for Cogsworth to identify the two very familiar individuals.

Lumiere and Babette.

For a few moments, Cogsworth remains frozen, and the two don’t even notice him, giggling to each other and doing…well, _each other_.  Lumiere grins and does something and Babette moans, and that’s when Cogsworth slams the door shut.

“Wh-who-?” Lumiere doesn’t finish the sentence before his mouth is covered with lord knows what, and Cogsworth turns straight around.

Red faced and now definably more angry, he runs back to the servant and tells him to do without, shouting something like “because fraternization is ruining my ability to get something as simple as a broom,” and running outside to the garden, literally running, because his mind is stuck on that image of whatever he saw and he doesn’t understand why he hates it so much.  It’s not as if he cares about Lumiere’s love life.  He man can do whatever he bloody wants; it’s none of Cogsworth’s business.  Still, there’s a part of him screaming to run back and scream and rave at Lumiere

He stops in the middle of the garden, surrounded by roses, and he imagines burning the articles of love to ash, having the world turn bright orange before gray.

With a sigh, he stuffs that anger he can’t understand down away from the forefront of his mind, and tries to get on with his day.  He, instead of going to the books like he desires to, walks around the garden, watching the gardeners do their business while looking over the décor and shrubbery and flowers.  Back when there was the enchantment to deal with, the whole garden area had become overgrown and unruly, vines springing up and crawling around the fountains, flowers wilting and being overcome by the trees and brush.  It truly was a mess.

Just like he is now.

He looks around for what feels like an hour, before finally pushing the anger away and walking back inside.

Of course, while he’s gone the castle falls into disarray.  Why had he ever thought he could leave for an hour or so?

First off, none of the tables are set, even though the scheduled dinnertime is about five minutes from now.  Second off, the servants had never finished cleaning the dining room, apparently forgetting that they have jobs since he went out to the garden.

Thirdly, dinner isn’t prepared, and there is one person that Cogsworth has always trusted to get dinner done on time.

“Lumiere!” He shouts, fuming, and the Frenchman bolts over, brow covered in sweat, clothes obviously put hurriedly on, to the point where Cogsworth can see a hickey hiding beneath the man’s collar.  That starts the spark, and then there’s the clear track of smudged lipstick that seems to be nearly wiped off, as if Lumiere had tried to clean himself but hadn't looked in a mirror.  He’s out of breath and obviously rushed, but Cogsworth doesn’t care, he’s furious.

“Mon Capiton, my sincerest apologies, we all lost track of time-”

“Of course you did!  I’m sure you and Babette lost more than time, Lumiere!” Cogsworth spits out before he can stop himself, and Lumiere starts, surprised, before he gains an affronted look.

“Now, what do you mean by that?  Babette and I’s interactions are not your business.”

“It is when the whole schedule that I’ve planned is thrown out the window because you cannot be professional!” Cogsworth retorts, something bubbling, something dangerous that he can’t hold down-

“Do not be jealous of us, Monsieur, simply because you have never lain with a woman,” Lumiere finally shoots back, and the servants begin to crowd, the shouts attracting them like moths to a flame.

“And just what do you mean by that?!” Cogsworth sputters, face dark crimson and he needs to get away but he’s trapped in this argument and he knows it’s going to end bad but-

“I am simply saying, _Monsieur_ , that my bed is often warm, though I am sure yours is always quite frigid,” Lumiere all but sneers.  Cogsworth snorts.

“Well at least _I_ can do my job just as well as I did as a clock, I’ve even improved, while you seem to have been better as a _candelabra_!” The crowd increases in size, until it feels as though the entire castle is there to watch them bicker.  Bringing up the days of the enchantment is a low blow, and Cogsworth knows it, but it feels as if he’s not even in his body anymore, he’s simply floating above and watching words fly out of his mouth without reason.

Finally, Lumiere lands the fatal blow.

“At least I am not so emotionless that people could mistake me for a _clock_!”

He doesn’t see the moment of impact, the way Lumiere’s face snaps to the side with the force of a sharply moving hand.  He doesn’t hear the gasps over the loud Smack that echoes through the ballroom, like shockwaves into his body sending him reeling.  He does not see the wide eyes of the Prince, of Belle, of the whole castle staring at the scene that plays out like a prerecorded episode, the dramatic irony of everyone but the players knowing where the story is going.

So no, Cogsworth does not see his hand land on Lumiere’s face, he does not feel the sting of how hard he smacks Lumiere, does not see h through the haze of red that snaps with the burst of pure fury from the dam of held in emotion.  When the haze clears, he instead sees Lumiere holding a hand to his cheek, which is bright red, a crowd of horrified spectators, and his own outstretched arm, left hanging in the air.  It drops to his side as his eyes widen, seeing the world around him until he locks onto Lumiere with tunnel vision.

There’s a beat.

“I-I,” _I’m sorry_ , those are the words Cogsworth is trying to say, but instead his throat closes up so he can barely breathe, staring into Lumiere’s hurt eyes, seeing the confusion, the betrayal, the utter surprise and disbelief.

He did this.

He…

He…

He runs.

His door is locked, and he is sitting on the side of his bed, staring at the wall, thinking of so many things and at the same time nothing at once.  There’s a loud buzzing in his head, emptying his thoughts until there’s only noise.

He slapped Lumiere.

In the _face._

Oh God.

A part of him is waiting for someone to come, for the Prince to come in as a beast and kill him, or the servants to tear him apart, or just someone to throw him out.  Everyone seems too busy to show up, unsurprisingly; he finds the lack of attention a bitter reminder of how unlike he is, though he can’t particularly blame them.

And hour passes.  No one arrives.

Cogsworth unlocks the door.  No one appears.

Cogsworth decides to pack.

That night, he has all his things in order.  There’s a note on his dresser that he can barely remember writing; it’s covered in shaking lettering, admissions and apologies, a resignation and a plea, left to fill his void with words.

Words, words, words.  They fill his soul, sentences he shouldn’t have uttered, words he should have held back, and now he slowly carries his heavy bags to the large door, the castle eerily silent as he makes the small trek to the front of the castle.  He gets to the door, and sets his bags down.  Looking back at the place he’d called home for years, he sighs, the noise echoing with the high ceilings.

He turns back, puts his hand to the door-

“Cogsworth!”

His body seizes at the voice.

“Lumiere,” He chokes out, turning back to see the man out of breath, holding the…note he’d written.

“Monsieur-,” Oh, what Cogsworth wouldn’t give to be called Mon ami again- “You cannot be serious about leaving.”

“I _hit_ you.  That is unacceptable behavior,” Cogsworth tries to explain, but Lumiere shakes his head, and there is still a red mark on his cheek from Cogsworth’s hand.

“Cogsworth, please stay.  Go rest,” Lumiere pleads.

Cogsworth falls asleep in his room, bags still packed.

* * *

The next day goes by in a blur.  Cogsworht can’t reach anyone’s eyes, and he barely gives out orders, though the castle gets clean and everything is on schedule for once.

Dinner is an awkward affair, in which Cogsworth picks at his food, pushing the brussel sprouts back and forth on his plate with a fork until he’s socially allowed to leave.

He and Lumiere do not speak, they do interact in any sort of fashion, and Cogsworth is fine with that.  He is fine with this whole situation.  He’s _fine._

That night, his dream is in a starry landscape, bathed in black, with that same green dressed woman waiting for him, and he swims though space towards her, drawn to the magical glow that eminates from her being.  This time, she does not wait for him to touch her before turning.

“Hello, Cogsworth.”

Her voice is like silk, but it is laced with poison, the promise of pain if anyone should ever cross the person the voice belongs to.  Her eyes, gemstones, bright emeralds that glow with mirth and wisdom.  Cogsworth cannot breathe while staring at her beauty, the bright silver crown perched atop her head like a cherry on a sundae.

“Y-you,” Words fail him, and the Enchantress chuckles.

“Yes, I am real, and yes, I am the enchantress who cursed you and the Prince.  Though, I must say, I’m surprised you all actually got him to break the curse,” The moment the comment of surprise spills from her lips, that familiar anger come sbubbling back.

“Y-you didn’t think he would change, and you cursed his servants as well?!” He nearly shouts at her, and she shrugs.

“You didn’t teach him how to treat others.  It was partly your fault,” She replies.

“Sure, perhaps _some_ of us were to blame, but condemning over fifty people to become living objects for all eternity because one man didn’t let you in for the night when you offered him a _rose?!_ There were _children_ , and pets!  Most of the servants barely even _spoke_ to the Prince!” He’s all set to shout more, but then the emerald eyes crystallize in anger, and he shrinks back.

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve arrived in your dream,” She seemingly glosses over his complaints, and a part of him is still fuming, but he’s mostly terrified.  “You see, I’ve been watching over all of you, and you, Cogsworth, are an enigma.”

“Well, tha-“

“That isn’t a compliment.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence ensues.

“You don’t understand true love, do you, Cogsworth?” She asks him, and a part of him realizes where this conversation is going.

“W-well, circumstances being as they were, things are often difficult to-“

“I don’t think you do,” She says with a smile that’s supposed to be kind, but it only looks sinister.  “Don’t worry, you won’t have a time limit like the Prince did,” She waves her hand.  Cogsworth reaches out to her to try and stop this whole mess.

_“Wait!”_

He wakes up swathed in blankets.  Everything is much too big, and he feels much too small.  There’s a familiar beat of the tick tock sound he’d grown to despise, and fear grips his chest.  He pushes the covers off of himself and sits up just enough to see himself in the mirror on his dresser.

He’s a clock.

Again.

_Tick tock._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that you're under our spell   
> (The title makes more sense now, don't it?)


	6. Mon Capiton, Mon Capiton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will be back momentarily, mon capiton."  
> Cogsworth stills at the nickname, but doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he might. It's actually kind of nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOI SO IVE BEEN BUSY WHICH IS WHY I HAVENT POSTED IN A BIT BUT SCREW IT NEW CHAPTER

Babette is somehow more gorgeous every day, Lumiere muses, taking a sip of tea.  He winces a bit; even after two days the slap still leaves a sting when he even so much as twitches a muscle, though if that is because it hurts him emotionally rather than physically, he isn’t able to tell.  Babette notices his discomfort.

“Lumiere, zat cheek can’t be still hurting, iz it?”  She asks, legs crossed and leaning back in the comfy sofa across from him.  Lumiere knows better than to lie to her.

“Oui, my little fluff, Cogsworth has, eh, a very strong hand, when he iz mad,” It feels awkward to talk about the incident, even when it’s only been not two days, and Lumiere tries not to think about it.

The expression of pure rage that Cogsworth’s face had contorted into the moment before his hand hit is etched into Lumiere’s brain.  Though, when Lumiere thinks about it, the slap wasn’t all that surprising.  Cogsworth had been acting distant, not to mention much more irritable, for a near week beforehand.  It makes sense that it was leading up to something.  That doesn’t make it _okay_ , but Lumiere has been on the receiving end of hits before, and most of those people hadn’t even cared to feel remotely sorry for bruises.  Cogsworth, on the other hand, well, Lumiere had never seen him more distraught when the beat between the slap and the gasp of the crowd had passed.

The night before, those haunted eyes and fully packed bags, Cogsworth had looked so _scared_ , and of what Lumiere can’t decipher even now.

He needs to fix this, but he doesn’t know how to, and it’s leaving him to feel helpless.

So, Babette.

“So, Lumiere, what iz it you want to know about men?” She asks, batting her lashes at him, and he grins at her.

“Ah, perhaps and insight to zeir less…understandable qualities?  Why we do ze zings we do?” He doesn’t know how to word the question, to ask her specifically why Cogsworth hides himself and doesn’t let himself have any fun most of the time, how to ask her to understand why Cogsworth represses everything until it bursts out of him in awful ways.  Babette thinks for a moment, lips pursed, before she gets a knowing look in her eyes and sly grin on her face.

“Ah, Lumiere, men are quite odd.  Zey are afraid of weakness, no?  So, zey hide, because zey fear someone will hurt zem.  You are an exception, you let yourself go and have _fun_ ,” She winks, “Cogsworth, well, he iz an extreme case.”

Lumiere his head in agreement with a grin; she does always seem to know who he wants to talk about.

“You are quite ze mind reader, Madame,” He comments, and she giggles at him, her feather duster bouncing on her hip.  Even now, with them being human again, it doesn’t leave her side, not that Lumiere blames her.  Whenever he sees a candelabra sitting by its lonesome, he’ll find some clock of it to stand by, before it strikes him that both objects are inanimate.  Mrs.Potts will be sure to leave a tea cup by the tea pot, and Chip, when feeling down; will curl up tight in the cupboard to rest.  Even the Prince will try to scratch or cut things open with claws that no longer exist, or he’ll growl when angry while raising his haunches like a mad animal.  In fact, the only person to have seemingly forgotten their existence as living objects is Cogsworth.  Though, Lumiere must admit, the man does put a lot of weight on timing, even though he always was a bit of a control freak at times.

“Oui, zough Lumiere, I zink zere are other zings you want to know?”  She hits him right on the nose with that one and startles him out of his thoughts, and this time he’s actually nervous to ask.  He did help her with Veronique, so he supposes it’s alright.

“Well, I was just wondering…how do you flirt with men?” He nearly blurts the last part out; half nervous she’ll shout at him or laugh, even though he knows she won’t.  Babette grins like a cat with a mouse in sigh; ready to pounce.

Instead of replying, she places a hand on his arm, almost as if by accident, though her eyes say something different.  She grins coyly, batting her eyelashes at him again, before leaning in, eyes half lidded, and he leans forward as well, entranced.

Then, she winks, and the spell is broken.

Lumiere jolts back in surprise at the quick turn of events, and Babette leans back once more, a self satisfied smirk gracing her lips. 

“How did you do zat?” He almost demands, and Babette shrugs.

“Men like, ah, well, zey like physical contact.  Touch zem on ze arm, shoulder, chest, pretend it was unintentional, but have your eyes tell zem it wasn’t.  Zen, you either strike up a conversation, or kiss zem.  It iz simple, though zere are different types of men zat react differently to zat way of flirting,” She takes a sip of tea, and Lumiere soaks in the information.  It’s true that men take to physical contact with differing opinions, Cogsworth once again being the perfect example of that.  Even pats on the back can cause the man to seize up or jump in surprise, or fear, followed usually by a glare or a lecture.  

“Zank you, Babette.  I will, err, try zat in ze future,” He really does need to thank her for coming on short notice.  Their relationship is open, though Babette has given him some hints that she might become part of a closed one, which while it will leave him without a partner he is still looking forward to, and that leaves boundaries up to speculation.  He appreciates her insight more than he thinks she knows.

“Now,” It’s his turn to lean back in his seat, with a smirk full of mirth.  “About _Veronique~_ ”

Babette blushes into her cup, and Lumiere grabs his, eyeing the flustered woman and waiting for a response while quietly sipping his tea.

* * *

Cogsworth stares at his mitten like brass hands for what feels like decades.  He can minutely feel himself shaking as the weight of his situation sinks in, the realization seizing his bones and curling in the stomach he no longer even has anymore, but either way it curls up in a guttural pit that leaves him grasping at shock and near despair.

He mechanically moves to get a better look at himself, toddling off of the bed, careful not to fall over.  He slides down the blanket to the floor and walks-can he even really _walk_ anymore?- over to his massive dresser.  In a practiced fashion, he pulls out  the bottom drawer all the way out, and hops on top of it, pulling the next drawer out less this time, until he has a staircase.  He’d done the same thing with most drawer held objects during his ten years as a clock, and it’s with bittersweet pride that he remembers what to do in this sort of situation. 

He has had almost three months of being human after ten years, and now he’s back to wood and brass instead of flesh and bone.

Staring at himself in the mirror, he turns around, feeling relief as he spots the lack of a wind up device on his back.  He stretches himself out a bit, testing the limits of his wooden frame.  It seems as though he’s in the same condition that he was when the enchantress had cast the spell ten years ago.  That is another relief to lead some of the weight off of his shoulders, but still he’s left with a vat of horror that encompasses his being as he stares at his clock face reflection.

With nothing to do but think, he lets his mind wander.

Immediately it turns to the incident with Lumiere, the harsh slap and the mounting shame that threatens to burn him alive.  He can’t grasp why he had felt so much hate and anger and more importantly, _hurt_ , when he’d opened that broom closet to see Babette and Lumiere doing rendezvous.  It wasn’t the first time Lumiere had ran off to have a time with some pretty young thing he found attractive, but this is the first time Cogsworth has been so torn up about it. 

There’s something missing that he can’t grasp, that not quite anger feeling that a part of him knows but won’t relay the rest of the information to the rest of him, and it’s horribly frustrating.

As for his reason of departure, well, why would he stay after that?  After he’d done something he’d sworn to himself he was above doing?

His mind twists back to that awful moment of Lumiere’s near broken brass arm, but instead it’s a real arm and he’s the one twisting, cracking and tearing bone and flesh, and it makes him queasy.

He’d thought he’d needed to leave.  People didn’t particularly like him here anyway, he knows that.  Not that he cared, of course, he didn’t need their kindness or care or respect, and he never got the respect of his peers anyhow.  Always persnickety, always too uptight, too worried about being late, that’s what he’s heard all of his life, so why bother trying to hope for anything different.

Perhaps he is bitter, he doesn’t know.

Suddenly, there is knock on his door, and terror slams his thoughts into nothingness.

“Cogsworth?” Oh god, of course it’s Lumiere, who else would it be?  “It iz nearly lunchtime.  You did not eat breakfast, oui?   You should get something to eat,” 

There’s a light feeling of something pretty and bright rising up in Cogsworth’s chest; that Lumiere still cared about him.

“Well-I-um…” Eloquent as always, “I’m not hungry at the moment, but I’ll come down for dinner!” He calls back, mentally slapping himself.  Why didn’t he just say that he’d call a servant to get him food, since public opinion of him is neutral at best?  Stupid! 

There’s a pause, and for a moment Cogsworth fears that Lumiere might come in to see him, but then there is a tired sigh that Cogsworth believes to be very uncharacteristic of the man.

“Alright, Monsieur, I’ll be sure to leave a seat open for you,” Is the reply, and Cogsworth wants to call out and maybe change his mind or heaven forbid, explain things, but instead he listens to the sound of Lumiere’s footsteps and wonders how he’s ever going to get down to dinner without anyone noticing his rather small and very clock-like appearance.

His mind gives him no ideas.

About an hour passes before he can even gather a plan of action, and that plan is swiftly dashed by the fact that he can no longer reach the doorknob, so plan B is put in as a replacement.

If he pretends to leave, when Lumiere inevitably comes in to get him, he’ll see that he left, and Cogsworth can sneak out the door and go…somewhere.  He hasn’t thought that far ahead.  Either way, it’s the best plan he’s got, other than telling the truth, which is a route that he does not want to go down, for obvious reasons.  Besides, he was going to leave anyway, might as well just make it official, and only a handful of people would miss him that much.

He opens up the window and begins tying sheets and blankets together; throwing the handmade rope out the open window as if he’d jumped ship.  Very convincing, he’d have to say, he is quite the intelligent thinker.  Now, all he has to do is wait.

* * *

Lumiere, though he likes the attention, can’t help but feel awkward as the many servants’ stares bore into him during his walk around the castle.  It’s not as if he’s broken because of the incident two days ago, the slap hadn’t even left a bruise, yet still they stare at his cheek as if there’s a gaping wound there.

Yesterday had been bad, worse with Cogsworth out and about and looking half dead, and while today is a little better, Lumiere can tell that their little scuffle-if one could even call it that- has shaken up a lot of the people who had known Cogsworth and Lumiere’s…relationship, for lack of a better word, as one as just bickering with true camaraderie underneath.  Never once had anything gotten worse than raised voices.

Yesterday was mostly a haze of disbelief, but now that the realization had time to settle in, people were whispering, wondering about Cogsworth and how Lumiere isn’t livid.

Lumiere wonders if he should be angrier.  He supposes he would be if he had never seen that note…

_Dear the people of this castle,_

_I have done transgressions of the highest magnitude by letting my anger get the better of me and as such have decided to take my leave.  My sincerest apologies for leaving without grooming some servant to take my place as head of the castle, but I am sure you will all be able to adjust.  I will write when I get settled about my pension, if I am permitted to have a pension considering the state of my leave._

_Lumiere, as for my specific transgressions against you…_

_I’m sorry._

There’s a few more paragraphs hardly legible, sentences with other sentences written on top of them as if Cogsworth had barely been paying attention while writing and had just kept the words flowing.  The ink blurs together into a mess, so Lumiere doesn’t bother to try and decipher them, but if he squints he can see many apologies written in.

It’s worrying, and Lumiere finds that it cools his temper.  Not that he gets angry easily, he’s learned to keep a lid on things, and most people don’t bother him.

He reaches the kitchen, opening the door and taking in the fresh smells of nearly prepared lunch, watching over the cooks and servants as they bustle to and fro with the practice ease of organized chaos.  Lumiere steps into the crowd, like he is known to do, and the crowded kitchen somehow makes room, though he is quite slim.  Seeing as lunch is taken care of, he walks back out of the kitchen and into the dining room. 

Belle is there, entranced by a new book, and the Prince is watching her read with fond exasperation.  The reading lessons Belle gives the Prince are progressing nicely, but even so the Prince loves to be read to.  The book Belle is lost in is called Canterbury Woods, and Lumiere must admit he is curious of its contents.

He sits down at his seat, next to Cogsworth place set, and he tries not to think of how the seat will remain uncomfortably empty.  Maurice and Mrs.Potts chatter on his other side while Chip sits across from him, wide eyes staring down the empty plate in wild anticipation.

When lunch is served, everyone digs in, for the first time in a while the table being silent.  It is often for the table to become empty, but that was mostly the product of Cogsworth refusing to engage in conversation for some odd reason Lumiere still doesn’t understand.

Halfway through the meal, the Prince speaks up.

“Are you alright, Lumiere?”

The question is not something Lumiere would ever expect the Prince to ask him, but to be fair the Prince has been changing quite drastically over the few months they’ve been human.  It’s a lot to take in and get used to.

“Why, of course Monsieur, why do you ask?” The Prince’s brow furrows as he tries to formulate a response, which is never a good sign.

“Well, with what happened between you and Cogswor-”

The Prince cuts himself off abruptly, and Lumiere turns back fast enough to see Mrs.Potts pulling the finger off of her lips, like she was shushing the Prince.  He moves back to look at the Prince with a slightly strained grin, and the Prince himself is pointedly grinning with all his teeth, trying to look kind.  Belle places a hand on his arm, eyes leaving the book at the tense air that has spread across the table.  She scans the expressions on everyone’s faces and locks eyes with Lumiere.  Lumiere does not blink, and she looks away first.

“I assure you, Monsieur, we are both adults.  We have ze matter settled professionally,” Lumiere finally responds after a beat of silent, and it is after his response that Belle finally speaks.

“Professionally, I’m  sure you two are both capable of setting your disagreements aside, but what we’re all worried about is how you two are handling things…in terms of your relationship,”  Lumiere has a biting retort bubbling up on his lips, but he swallows it down like a bitter pill. 

He can control his temper; he’s not _Cogsworth_ after all.

Now, where did _that_ thought come from?

“Madame, Cogsworth and I have no such relationship.  He has made zat _very_ clear to me,” The second part is muttered under his breath, but it seems everyone can hear him, because the conversation grinds to a halt from his response.

The rest of lunch is an awkwardly silent affair, and Lumiere silently curses his attitude.  He’s not one to get angry, but even with his temper cooling with the knowledge of Cogsworth’s guilt, but every time the whole incident gets brought up, he can’t help but feel a bit furious.

Cogsworth did always have a way of making him feel things he didn’t usually feel.

Once lunch is over, he oversees Cogsworth’s duties, which is much harder than one would expect.  The servants seem to think that since Cogsworth isn’t around to order them about, they can simply slack off on the nonessential jobs.  It takes Lumiere probably twice the amount of effort to get anyone to do anything than it would take Cogsworth to do.  That’s something he can respect about Cogsworth, the man’s way of getting things done. 

After that mess, dinner rolls in, but there is a distinct lack of a certain person, and Lumiere sighs in aggravation.  Leave it to Cogsworth to try and get out of a meal.  He checks over the kitchens, finds the chefs to be working diligently, and walks over to Cogsworth’s room.

He nock on the door, and gets no response.  “Cogsworth?” Silence stretches into a near minute before he knocks again.  “Cogsworth?” Even with his louder call, there is not the slightest indication of movement, and so he opens the surprisingly unlocked door.  Cogsworth is nowhere in sight, but the window appears open, and Lumiere spots a worrying trail of tied together bed sheets and blankets trailing out of it.  He walks over to it, and leans out to see how far the trail goes.  It doesn’t go even half the length of the castle, so it must be some sort of ruse.  Not to mention how terrified Cogsworth is of heights and how that would factor in his ability to scale such a tall wall.  Either way it’s a diversion if Lumiere has ever seen one, and he hears the distinct sound of a ticking clock behind him, and the sound of very light steps.  He turns-

Frozen in mid step is a small grandfather clock, wide eyes staring straight into Lumiere’s with too much expression for Lumiere to hope to be some sort of sick joke in which someone had painted a clock face.  After a moment the clock looses balance and falls over with a yelp, groaning as it gets up in that all too familiar tone of voice.  It looks up at him and chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of its neck in a familiar gesture Lumiere knows all too well.

“Ah-I, um, I see my plan was a bit faulty,” Cogsworth mutters, and Lumiere can’t help to think that there’s a lot more that’s faulty at this moment in time.

Instead, he gawks.

* * *

Cogsworth shifts from foot to foot, weighing his options.  If he’d only been quicker!  To be fair, he wasn’t particularly used to wooden legs yet, not to mention he’d never been able to move very fast anyway, especially in the last few years of the enchantment.  Anyway, Lumiere is staring at him with some mix of fear and confusion, and Cogsworth decides to be at least somewhat truthful.

“The enchantress may or may not have paid me a visit last night, displeased my recent behavior,” He perhaps omits some of the truth, but only for good reason!  He wants nothing to do with a mad dash to find him ‘true love’ or any of that nonsense.  Most servants despise him anyhow, so anyone they would try and force him to be with would end up uncomfortable.  The nicer ones might try and pretend to be nice with him, sure, but a lot of the servants were a good five years younger than him, and he didn’t much want to seem like a creep.

His admission sends Lumiere’s eyes to sharpen like steel.

“We have to tell ze others,” There is no room for argument from his tone, and he walks over and unceremoniously picks Cogsworth up before Cogsworth can even begin to formulate a reponse.

“W-wait!  At least let me pretend to be a real clock!” If any of the servants find out he has been reduced to object form, it would spread like wildfire and cause mass panic.  Lumiere seems to realize this as well, because he quickly shuts the door.

“We zen, pretend to be a clock!”  Cogsworth obliges, standing stiff in Lumiere’s hands and coiling his arms to how he remembers seeing the small brass handles being positioned.

“Be sure to move my clock hands to a more believable position,” He commands as he closes his eyes, and Lumiere does just that.  It feels odd, considering it’s as if someone was moving his moustache out of place, but it isn’t painful at the very least.

After a few moments of silence in which Cogsworth guesses that Lumiere is checking him over, the door opens, and Lumiere steps out with him in tow, walking deliberately somewhere. 

“You are very lucky most of ze servants are at dinner or in zere rooms,” Lumiere whispers, and Cogsworth has to stifle an undignified snort of a response from occurring.  He wishes he ccould open his eyes to see where they are going, but big eyes staring out f a clock would be a dead giveaway, so instead he lets himself be led to god knows where in complete silence.

He knows the location they are in the moment Lumiere opens the door to the room.  He can smell the musty air of old books and the he can feel the sun from the high windows.  The library.

Lumiere sets him down on a table, and Cogsworth can feel Lumiere’s hand hovering above his head, as if he was about to pat it, before it gets pulled away.  “I will be back momentarily, mon capiton,” Cogsworth stills at the nickname, but doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he might.  It’s actually kind of nice.

The door shuts after a moment, and Cogsworth can only wait with baited breath, considering he has no idea whether or not people are in the room.  Though, Lumiere did speak rather loudly when he had said he’d be back soon, so Cogsworth supposes that means no one is around.  Still, better safe than sorry.  He’s thankful that a lack of muscles means his arms don’t get tired, because it takes a near ten minutes for Lumiere to get back with the whole crowd of tight knit servants as well as Prince and Princess respectively. 

“Lumiere you said this was of utmost importance-” The Prince begins, but Lumiere shushes him, which is a rather odd turn of events, considering who actually holds the power.

“Cogsworth, you can stop pretending,” Lumiere’s affirmation of his safety is what gets Cogsworth to relax, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, before stretching himself out and pushing his moustache clock hands into place.  He ignores, or rather pretends to ignore the loud gasp that echoes in the large room.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Potts mutters, and the Prince steps forward, ever large an intimidating; even more so with Cogsworth new size.  He cowers slightly, but it seems that the Prince doesn’t notice.

“How did this happen?” It is more of a command than a question, and Cogsworth shifts into and at attention position out of habit.

“T-the enchantress,” Everyone shivers at the mention of her, save for Belle and Maurice, “She appeared in my dreams last night and-erm-turned me back into this as punishment for my altercation with Lumiere,” Lumiere nods when heads turn their way to him.  “She says that the spell will be done with once I have learned my lesson, whatever that may be,” That’s the first true lie he tells, but again, it’ll be better for him and most of the servants in the long run. 

_Liar_ , comes the enchantress’s voice in his ear, coiled with venom like snake’s tongue, and he visibly jumps at the sound.

“Cogsworth?” Lumiere questions in concern, and Cogsworth chuckles nervously once more, wondering how to save face, but he finds no way out of it.

“The enchantress may have just…spoken with me,” he squeaks the last part out, and the Prince jumps back in fear of the enchantress’s presence.  Lumiere, on the other hand, looks quite angry, and he stalks up and kneels down to eye level, staring in Cogsworth’s eyes as f he could glare the enchantress away.

“Enchantress, leave Cogsworth alone!  Our disagreement has nothing to do with you!”

_“You can’t tell me what to do.”_

The words spill out of Cogsworth’s mouth before he can stop them, and they aren’t his or in his voice.  Lumiere steps back, eyes wide, and Cogsworth slaps a hand over his mouth.

Mrs. Potts uses the moment of silence to unceremoniously faint.

* * *

That night, Cogsworth is moved to Lumiere’s room, simply for the sake of having him close to a servant in case of emergencies.  Lumiere, surprisingly, sleeps with clothes on, and Cogsworth thanks whoever exists in omnipotence for that.   Lumiere takes a pillow and places it on his dresser before placing Cogsworth on top of that. 

“Goodnight, Monsieur,” Lumiere says, and Cogsworth finally speaks up over this whole ordeal.

“Err, ‘Mon ami’ is acceptable,” His pronunciation is awful, but the message gets across.  Lumiere smiles.

“Goodnight, mon ami.”

That night, he doesn’t dream, but the enchantress rewards his deceit with another effect of the curse.

He wakes up with a wind up key on his back.


	7. Don't you worry, mon cher, I'll carry the world for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light. Lumiere is light.
> 
> Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY so this chapter is coming out very quickly but whatever I was in a writing mood. Anyway, I just wanted to comment on chapter 5. I knw it felt rushed, but the main reason for that was because I really wanted to finish it that day and it was already 11:30pm and then I got the comment from my friend about how my story was probably shitty and I felt so bummed that I knew if I stopped writing I would put it off for ages and I didn't want to do that, so I rushed it a bit. Apologies.  
> But hey, look on the bright side, this chapter is like 95% happy!

Cogsworth shouldn’t feel so betrayed by the fact that the enchantress has made a bad situation worse, because she literally turned him into a clock because of some misguided opinion of hers in which he needs ‘true love’, but he does.  Horribly so.  He’d shout if his yells wouldn’t wake up Lumiere, who he notices snores very oddly.  It’s almost…well, if he was someone who used the word cute that’s what he would call it.  It sounds as if he’s saying yes in French, or just the word ‘Wee'.  Cogsworth hopes it’s the latter version, because the former would mean something quite vulgar is happening in Lumiere’s dreams.

It’s probably ‘wee’.  Lumiere is a yes man, but he’s not _that_ much of a yes man.

Anyway, he can’t particularly move, so his morning is mostly spent with him trying to figure out how to a. persuade the enchantress to turn him back into a human , b. find a way to force the enchantress to turn him back into a human, or c. find true love.

Plan c is a last resort, but Cogsworth is starting to believe it may be your only option.

“Cgzwrth..,” Cogsworth jolts at his muffled out name, or rather, he would have if he could move, and his face grows hot.  Lumiere wouldn’t-no, he couldn’t be dreaming about _him_ , that would be uncouth, and-and simply an impossible possibility!    He listens in, but there are no more words spoken from Lumiere’s dream mouth, save for that odd snoring. 

His eyes scan Lumiere’s room.  He’s never been here before, and it’s very…Lumiere.  He keeps his own room very impersonal, save for the many wall clocks and books he keeps around-he likes reading and being on time-but Lumiere’s room just drips with his personality, with light yellow curtains and a yellow color schemed bed spread that Cogsworth is sure is one hundred percent never made.  The wall paper has gold flecks, and the whole room seems bright and luminescent.  There is of course a brass candelabra sitting on his bed side, another simple candlestick that Lumiere actually lights.

Cogsworth figures that Lumiere doesn’t like the idea of watching the candelabra melt.  He understands, because whenever a clock gets thrown out because it breaks he digs it out of the trash, cleans and fixes it best he can, and finds a spot for it in his room.  Why is it a clock’s fault for breaking down?  Imagine if he had broken, would the Prince had thrown him out to rot?  It just feels wrong to leave something that he once was, and now is, to die.

“mm-ph, guh-Cogsworth?” Cogsworth again would jolt at the sound if he could, but the enchantress loves to make his life difficult.  Instead, he sighs as Lumiere gets up, hair tussled and sticking up in odd places, which is funnily enough endearing to see.

“Finally up, Lumiere?  Good to see you awake, I suppose,” He comments dryly, and Lumiere actually snorts, in the most undignified and good natured of senses, before he starts to fix up his hair and stretch, back cracking with movement and joints popping somehow not painfully. 

“Turn around, I have to change,” Lumiere tells him before unbuttoning his shirt.

“Actually!” Cogsworth has to shout because Lumiere is grabbing the waistband of his trousers, and he is not prepared to see any of that.  “I can’t move, so if you could postpone…that!” Lumiere freezes with his pants down to his thighs, and turns his head.

“What do you mean, you can-,” He stops abruptly, eyes locked on his dresser mirror, and Cogsworth guesses that Lumiere has spotted the wind-up key.  “Merde!” Cogsworth gapes at the loud and vulgar word, but Lumiere is already moving, lifting up his pants and nearly vaulting over his bed to Cogsworth, an impressive feat in itself.  “Have you been stuck like zis all morning?” Lumiere is somewhat frantically winding up the key with jerky movements as he questions Cogsworth, and Cogsworth is confused by his…fear?  Apprehension?  Either way, it feels...nice to be cared about in some sense.

Then again, Lumiere has always cared about him in some sense.

“Well, I only was awake for around two hours-,” He knows how long it was exactly, two hours, thirty seven minutes and twenty four seconds, because that relentless ticking, ticking, _ticking-_

“-so I didn’t have to be still for too long,” Is the rest of his reply as Lumiere sets him down.  Cogsworth stretches a bit, feeling the small turning of gears.  It’s odd, feeling his own insides work, but it’s not particularly uncomfortable.

“So, I still need to change, mon cher,” Lumiere comments, but after a moment of thought his ears redden and his eyes widen.  Before Cogsworth can comment, Lumiere is turning right around and going behind his bed to change.

Again, there has been a lot of oddness this morning, but Cogsworth bites his tongue and closes his eyes until he feels himself being carried.  “We are going to ze library to discuss what we should do about zis...predicament, Lumiere half whispers to him, before he walks out the door, and Cogsworth becomes inanimate.

* * *

 

The walk to the library seems a lot shorter this time around, perhaps because this time Lumiere has a destination planned out instead of just finding a location that’s quiet and private.  He’s humming a tune under his breath as he walks, and while Cogsworth isn’t one for music he knows when said music is good.

When they do get to the library, they are greeted by the low hum of conversation, with the familiar voices of their crew of confidants, as well as clacking the cups on fine china platters and spoons in bowls.  Cogsworth opens his eyes to see a makeshift dining table stacked with breakfast cuisine, and everyone is digging in, save for Maurice, whose seat remains unusually empty.  Lumiere sits down on his spot and sets Cogsworth on the table, greeting everyone with a smile before grabbing some breakfast from the makeshift almost buffet.  Cogsworth would be all for eating if he was hungry, because it does look quite delicious, but the lack of a stomach makes him loath to eat anything at all.  When the spell had first hit, no one ate for weeks until they got used to a lack of internal organs-also because the stove chef was in near tears with frustration at the lack of cooking, and he didn’t eat as a clock until Lumiere practically forced his face into a vat of pudding.  While the pudding was delicious at the time, it took ages to clean it all off.

Lumiere doesn’t seem to be noticing his existence over his  conversations, and Cogsworth’s smaller stature leaves him unseen by everyone else-save for a wink from Mrs.Potts, so instead of watching everyone shovel food into their mouths he makes the intelligent decision to jump down off of the table and waddle over to the bookshelves.  He catches snippets of conversations as he skims over a book he read during the first enchantment-it feels weird that he now has to call it the first enchantment, but then again this whole ordeal is nothing short of weird.

“Mademoiselle, what books have you been reading?”

“Oh my, Chip you’ve got milk all over your face!”

“Lumiere, where is Cogsworth?”

Cogsworth turns up as he feels all eyes on him, and he finds that all are.

“Um, yes?” He winces at his squeaky tone.  Honestly, he’s nearly forty and his voice _still_ cracks!  The Prince opens his mouth as if to say something, but he shuts it with a frown, and Belle sets a hand on his wrist, looking him in the eyes before turning back to Cogsworth and speaking.

“We were…thinking of telling the others about your situation,” She tells him, and for a moment Cogsworth stares at her dumbly.

“Others?”

“Ze whole castle,” Lumiere interjects for clarification, and Cogsworth’s eyes nearly pop out of their skull.

“The _whole castle_?!  Oh, no no no no no _no_ , _absolutely_ not, I can hardly hold their attention when I’m human, now you want me to do my job as a foot tall _clock_ -,”

“Cogsworth.”

“Mass panic!  Don’t get me started on the mass panic that could erupt from this, these people are simple minded, they’ll go mad at the idea of being objects again -,”

“ _Cogsworth._ ”

“How could you even suggest that we tell them, honestly Miss, this will send this whole castle into madness, do you truly believe-,”

“ ** _COGSWORTH!_** ”

Cogsworth freezes with his mouth open and his hands on his temples, eyes wide and terrified and mind whirring with spirals to destruction.  The Prince’s voice echoes through the room, and Cogsworth is reminded of the Beast shouting at him with bared teeth and angry eyes.  He takes in a deep breath, and straightens himself up to as tall as he can be, before staring the Prince right in the eyes and waiting.  “Cogsworth, you cannot expect the castle to run smoothly without its head.  Since this is not a permanent spell, and I don’t think there’s a time limit for the lesson to be learned-,”

“There isn’t, sir, she told me specifically that I wouldn’t have one ‘this time’, He clarifies, before his face turns a bit pink at the realization that he’d just interrupted the Prince.  The Prince doesn’t seem to mind, however, he just grins lopsidedly and continues on.

“Right, then you’ll be fine, there’s no need to worry.  I’m assigning Lumiere to follow you around these next few days while you get situated, alright?”

Cogsworth doesn’t know how to feel about being forced to interact with someone who he’d just slapped across the face not five days ago, but he knows better than to argue on this front.  With a sigh, he rubs his face and relents.

“That will be satisfactory sir, anything else?”  The Prince looks up to the ceiling to think, but before he can reply, the library door bursts open, and Maurice runs noisily in with some sort of cart being pushed in front of him.

“I did it!  I figured it out!” He cries triumphantly, hair frazzled and unkempt and his apron untied.  He’s got grease stains on his hands and face, and some bags under his eyes, but he’s got a gleam in his eye which Belle characterizes as ‘inventor’s spark’.    In an instant, Cogsworth finds himself lifted high off of the ground until he’s eye level to Maurice, who looks nearly mad with glee.  “Now, come here, come here!”  Without giving any sort of indication that the others exist, Maurice sprints over to the cart and practically slams Cogsworth down onto it.  After a few moments of silence, Lumiere speaks up.

“Uh, Monsieur, perhaps you should tell us what zis is?”

“Oh-ho, of course of course!”  Maurice runs a hand through his hair with a sheepish smile, but even though one might find such a person annoying Cogsworth has to say that you’d have to be a truly terrible individual to not like Maurice.  For one, the man is endlessly kind, and if you make him sad, well, he looks like a kicked puppy when distraught.  Not to mention the man is unfailingly loyal to those he cares about.   Maurice is just a good man, and it baffles Cogsworth at times just how Maurice cares so much about others.  “See, this is a mechanized cart that will allow Cogsworth to move without being carried!  He just needs to push down on this pedal here-,” He points to the small wooden pedal just north of Cogsworth’s peg foot.  “-and the wheels will turn!  He needs to steer through this-,” Again, Maurice points to another part of the contraption, this time two separate strings attached to a wheel on an axis angle.  “-and he can get around with ease!” 

Cogsworth is astounded by the creation, especially considering it was made in such short notice, and the others are very vocal about their excitement.

“Papa, this is amazing!”  “Tres Bien, Monsieur!”  “Wow!” “Splendid work!”  “This is incredible!”

Maurice blushes at the praise, and silence falls as eyes land on Cogsworth’s lack of a response besides wide eyed staring. 

“Maurice,” He begins after a moment, and the name feels awkward on his tongue.  He’s used to saying sir or miss, especially to those older or above him.  Mrs.Potts is a friend, an exception, and everyone else is a servant below him, making the title unnecessary.  “Thank you very much for this,” He tries to sound sincere, because he is, but he often looses the feeling when he speaks.  Maurice seems to understand anyway, because he just smiles.

“Well, what are you waiting for?  Try it out!” Maurice exclaims, arms gesturing about.  He truly is a man who uses a lot of gesticulation.  Cogsworth takes in another deep breath, grabs the ropes, and presses down on the pedal.

It moves about three inches forward at a snail’s pace, before stopping.

Maurice chuckles at his visible confusion, scratching the back of his head with a good natured smile.  “You have to press the pedal down repeatedly to keep going,” He instructs, and Cogsworth nods in affirmation, determined to execute everything properly.

He rapidly presses up and down on the pedal, and the wheels turn, slowly gaining speed as he steers it around the room.  At first, he keeps the pace moderate, but bubbling excitement leads him to speed faster as the room blurs around him.  He feels as if he’s riding a sprinting stallion, pushing faster and faster with the constant stepping of the peddle acting as some sort of beat to a rapid galloping symphony.

“Ha haaa!” He’s laughing near madly as wind whips past his head and sends his clock hands whirring around his face, not at all helping his vision.  He takes a glance at the table, and he finds everyone smiling at his antics; it’s true that he rarely gets this excited and playful, and he almost never laughs this freely.

Lumiere’s expression sends him reeling.

There’s a fond look in the Frenchman’s eye, something warm and just undeniably happy, and his smile is sweet and pleased as those fond eyes travel with the rapid movement forward of the cart. 

Lumiere’s cheeks are blushing pink, and something bright and beautiful springs into Cogsworth’s chest as he watches that expression, something in it drawing him into want to stare at it for eternity.

Suddenly, the expression shifts to concern.

“Cogsworth!  Ze wall!”

Cogsworth jerks to look forward and finds the wall of books approaching far too fast for him to steer clear of it, but even so he pulls hard on the steering wheel of sorts and tries desperately to escape the inevitable.  The cart tips because of how hard he turns, and he yelps right before a big crash sends everything clattering. 

“Oh dear!” Maurice and Mrs.Potts cry in unison, but it is the long, spindly hands of Lumiere that find him first, picking up and looking at him in his half dazed eyes with pupils dripping with worry.

“Mum I have to fight the war against the witch lady,” Cogsworth mumbles, and Lumiere barks out a surprised laugh, and for a moment Cogsworth expects it to be malicious, but instead it turns out kind and friendly, the most innocent of sounds that peals out of Lumiere’s mouth with a gleaming relieved smile on his lips that sends the pain of ramming into a bookshelf packing as that warm bubbly feeling of just pure...something fills in that space.  “Well,” Cogsworth says once the dizziness has faded into lucidity.  “I suppose I should endeavor to go slower next time.”

Laughter fills the room once more, and Cogsworth allows himself to smile.

* * *

 

They call a staffwide meeting.

Cogsworth feels the cool tendrils of his anxiety, of every single thing he’s done wrong crawling up his back and sending his thoughts spiraling down into dark places.  When they were all objects there was no good reason to tease one or the other because they were all in the same boat, but now he’s all alone in this situation.  He feels small, in more than one sense.  Lumiere puts a hand on his tiny shoulder.

“Cogsworth, are you alright?”  It’s a simple question, but a million responses fill Cogsworth’s head, and he has to find the right one because if he says the wrong one then he’ll be humiliated.

“I-um-well, the servants don’t particularly respect me here as a human, and now as a clock, well, I’ve never been in such a position before, and while I aim to be a thick skinned individual, I cannot be held accountable for how I handle ridicule in the workplace, and-,”

Immediately, Lumiere is pushing Cogsworth’s foot off of the pedal and leaning down to eye level.

“Mon capiton, mon ami, mon cher,” Again, Lumiere turns an embarrassed pink at the final phrase, but Cogsworth doesn’t understand why.  Mon cher must be like mon ami, right?  It’s a phrase he doesn’t know, but he supposes it must be a simple term of friendly endearment.  Sparkling-he’d never seen how they glimmered before-brown eyes ground him out of his ramble, and he takes in a deep breath as Lumiere continues.  “You will be fine, Cogsworth, we will help you zrough zis, I promise.”

Somehow, that makes Cogsworth feel a million times better.

Lumiere pats his back softly, and it’s just at that moment that Cogsworth realizes that Lumiere is so... _bright_.  Every inch of Lumiere’s skin seems to glow, like just him existing makes the world lighter.  It’s what really brings the meaning of Lumiere’s name home, not that Cogsworth is truly thinking about it.

Light.  Lumiere is light.

Huh.

He hears the hum of murmuring servants just beyond the wall, curious and confused.  They all are in the ballroom, and he’s to come out onto the balcony of sorts to talk to them.  Even though there’s the terrible burn of fear clenching his soul, Lumiere gives him a smile and wink, and Cogsworth pushes forward.

The moment he pedals onto stage, the crowd gasps.  There are a few shrieks of horror and fear, but they are quickly shushed by fearfully silent bystanders.  One servant bursts into tears, and Mrs.Potts makes her way to the poor thing and begins to calm her down as Cogsworth reaches the center of the balcony.  He clears his throat.

“Well, as some of you may observe, I have been reduced to my former clock form,” There are a few snorts of laughter at that, derisive as well as desperate, but Cogsworth bustles on.  “I promise you all that this is punishment for me alone, and you will not be affected.  Business will continue as usual, and I will see you all at our usual assignment post so I can give out today’s jobs,” With that, he turns swiftly out, heart hammering and breath nearly gone but so elated for not going insane or panicking while he had been explaining things.

In his rush to escape what he expects is laughter and jeers, he misses Lumiere’s entrance moments later, the way the Frenchman walks in with deliberation and a sharp fire in his eyes, burning cold and precise in such a way that leaves every servant to go silent in shock and a different type of fear.

He does not hear Lumiere’s promise that should any servant make Cogsworth miserable, that Lumiere would make that servant’s life unpleasant.  He does not hear Lumiere add on that as they all live in the same castle, said mean servant cannot escape Lumiere in the slightest.

And he does not see Lumiere give the coldest and most silently threatening of smiles, the way the light in the Frenchman’s eyes turns dark with loyal intent to fulfill that promise should he have to.

Because Lumiere is fiery, flame filled passion, but the true fear comes from freezer burn.

Instead, Cogsworth finds himself pleasantly surprised at the lack of ridicule or malicious laughter sent his way, and spends the rest of the day glowing with Lumiere at his side.


	8. Chipping in; A Grave Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chip stares at him in the way only a tiny child can, right through him and into his soul.
> 
> “I don’t want to be a teacup again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyo!!!!  
> It me again.  
> Sorry about the wait, this part in the story is very nebulous for me. I know how it ends, but I need to give it time so it can get to the end naturally. Plus I got into a bit of a rut, but I really like how this chapter turned out, so enjoy!!  
> (Also, after the main fic is over I'm thinking of doing prompts, so think of scenarios you might want me to write with Lumiere and Cogsworth in the future-tho it can be with the other characters too, just have Lumiere or Cogsworth in it.)

Of course, Lumiere’s threats only go so far, and there is of course some snickers in the halls as Cogsworth pedals down to the ballroom to…watch everyone eat dinner.  The thought of eating as a clock makes him feel nauseous, mostly because he would have to request such small utensils, and a plate, and serving, and it would just make a big fuss over nothing, because he doesn’t need to eat like this, it just gives him more energy than normal.

Speaking of eating, he doesn’t even know how the enchantress made it so enchanted objects could eat.  How does that even work?  Where does all the food go?  How does he even have teeth and a throat?

His brain is consumed with those questions while everyone else is consuming food; at least until a very small plate of food is placed in front of him.  There is a miniature steak about a quarter of the length of his arm that is steaming hot, as well as a small serving of mashed potatoes.  After a moment of his staring, a teeny saucer of soup and a miniature cup of water is placed there as well, utensils being added after.

He blinks, looking down on all of it in surprise, before he hears the soft chuckles of Lumiere.

“Ah, Monsieur, you did not zink we would let you skip meals again?  Surely you know us better zan zat,” The Frenchman glances to the side at his surprise, and Cogsworth huffs.

“You didn’t tell the chef to do this, did you?” He would hate to have the staff to think he needs special treatment now that he is a clock again.  He did not want to be seen as lesser because of a wretched spell!  Lumiere throws his head back and laughs, before turning the full way to see him, eyes sparkling mischief and delight.

“Oh, of course not!  What do you take me for?  Zough, I may or may not have let it slip that it would be quite difficult for you to eat when the portion sizes are so big…and ze chef may have heard.  I do not know,” Of course the chef would do something after that sort of admission!  One thing that Cogsowrth admires about the chef, though now he is cursing the man’s values; he never lets anyone go without food.  When he had heard of Cogsworth skipping meals just a few weeks before, Cogsworth had had to dodge the man’s rage and constant search for him to give him more food than needed.

 At the moment, Cogsworth inwardly fumes at the slippery way Lumiere manages to care about him.  Well, fume isn’t the right word, though his face does get rather hot.  Lumiere simply turns back to his meal, and after a few moments, Cogsworth is inclined to join, so he does.

* * *

Soon, a routine comes about.  A week passes with him in his odd state, and by that point most of the servants are quite frankly used to seeing Cogsworth as a clock, even with everyone else being human.  Lumiere is the only one who seems to be dissatisfied with how nonchalantly everyone is about Cogsworth’s condition.  The Frenchman, once the appropriate amount of time for Cogsworth to get used to going around the castle, watches from afar, almost as if hovering.  Any moment Cogsworth needs to get downstairs or upstairs in his cart, Lumiere is already picking it up and walking up or down.  It’s a miracle that Lumiere’s work gets done at all now that he nearly ever leaves Cogsworth’s view.

It’s…well, Cogsworth doesn’t exactly know how to describe all these emotions Lumiere manages to create.  Either way, Cogsworth doesn’t particularly mind, since he does need help getting up and down stairs and all of Lumiere’s tasks get done anyway. 

One day, however, Lumiere goes absent from his side, and Cogsworth relegates himself to floor one, pretending not to hear the laughter and the few who have grown adventurous in their teasing.  He’s not surprised, there are simply those who particularly don’t like him for reasons he can’t change, but he doesn’t treat them any different than anyone else.  No use stoking the fire, no matter how wounded his pride is.  He doesn’t have time for them anyway, even as a clock.

What is it with his puns lately?  He despises them, and yet he makes them.  What and odd dichotomy, he inwardly thinks, but he still endeavors to keep away from such peasant humor.

Despite his fortitude against the teasing, he can’t help but nearly curse in outrage when one servant ‘accidentally’ knocks over his cart while he’s in it.  He doesn’t know who it is, because by the time he gets up the hallway is empty, leaving him to wander the halls on very slow foot.

While walking past the cupboards, he hears the distinct sound of Chip's voice hiccuping in a distressing manner.  He turns, and there is the curled up figure of Chip, shivering and sniffing like he’s crying.

“Chip?” He asks hesitantly, voice as soft as he can make it.  He’s never been good with children, but Chip has always been at least one he can like, what with how he’s been raised in the castle by everyone.  Even with his somewhat abrasive personality, Chip seems to enjoy his company at some points, and Cogsworth can admit that he loves reading to small children.

The boy flinches at his name being called, before uncurling to look down at Cogsworth, eyes red and tears curling at the corner of them.  Immediately, worry and confusion hits sharp in Cogsworth’s chest, and while a part of him screams at him to get an adult, he _is_ an adult, and he knows that Chip won’t feel any better if he leaves.

“Hi Mr.Cogsworth,” Chip mumbles out, and Cogsworth straightens at the title.

“Chip, er, what is the matter?”  He doesn’t know tact, but then again, neither do children, and he supposes that is why Chip doesn’t mind him.  Chip rubs snot and tears on his sleeve-in any other scenario Cogsworth would be scolding the child because that would stain-and takes a shuddering breath, hugging his knees to his chest before deigning to give Cogsworth a reply. 

“I’m scared,” Is the explanation to the tears, and Cogsworth resists the urge to rub his temples in annoyance at the vague answer.  One of the reasons he struggles with children is the fact that trying to get information out of them when they don’t feel like sharing is like pulling teeth, painfully slow and strenuous.  Still, he pulls in his annoyance and remembers Chip’s emotional state, eyes filling with empathy and care as he questions the boy further.

“What are you frightened of?  Surely I can alleviate some of this fear,” His sentences are near rehearsed; he knows not how to comfort besides a pat on the back and perhaps a compliment, and children are especially fragile when in melancholy states, so he needs to be on his best behavior.  Chip stares at him in the way only a tiny child can, right through him and into his soul.

“I don’t want to be a teacup again.”

Any response Cogsworth could have planned is blown out of him with a mighty force of emotional pain, striking him with shock and belayed near pity, but mostly sharp understanding that fills himself with grief for the ten years lost on a child’s mind.  Chip’s eyes are dark and lost in clouds of confusion and hurt and fear that leads him to curl up tighter, knuckles white from the tight grip on his knees.

“It seemed fun when I was a teacup.  I could make bubbles,” Chip continues in a low voice, disjointed sentences speaking volumes, and Cogsworth feels dread rising up in his stomach.  “But…it was scary I think, now that I’m normal.  Momma didn’t want to me be scared then, but I’m scared now,” Chip glances at his fingers.  “I didn’t have hands for a long time.  I didn’t remember having hands when I…,” Chip shivers.  “But you’re a clock again.  Does that mean I’m gonna lose my hands again?”

Cogsworth can hardly breathe, and there’s anger clamoring in his chest towards the enchantress.  She’s scarred a child, a boy who knew nothing and did nothing but she made him suffer then and suffer now and he’s so furious that he’s beside himself in rage.  Not now; he knows that he can’t be in fury when Chip is looking as breakable as the glass china he used to be, so he swallows his temper like a ball of hot fire before replying.

“Of course you won’t lose your hands.  I’ll be sure to protect you from that,” Chip starts at that, head raised and eyes wide in surprise, glassy blue orbs still filled with tears that refuse to continue to fall. 

“Really?” There’s trust in that voice, trust from a child so precious that Cogsworth has to puff up in surprise, but also in sincerity, to deserve to be receiving such trust.

“But of course.  The enchantress may do what she will with me, but come after you and, well, the castle would find her and get her to do their will before she could even begin to cast such a spell,” It’s the biggest truth he can tell.  Despite their loyalty to the Prince, even over ten years ago Prince Adam knew his boundaries.  Chip was never a target of ridicule, being as young and innocent as he was.  If the Prince had dared hurt him, the castle would have revolted, be damned with the fact that the Prince was their boss.  Chip wasn’t just Mrs. Potts’ child, he was the castles’, and any servant would lay down their life for the boy, himself included.

Chip blushes pink in some sort of pride and surprise, the faintest hints of a grin, before he giggles.  Cogsworth grins at the sound, before smirking.

“Oh, yes, you don’t have to worry about being an object.  As for me, well, I’m a clock again, and I think I’m going tick-tocking mad!” He spins his mustache clock hands for comic effect, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue, and Chip peals with laughter, rocking back and forth with joy as his giggles and snorts fill the room.

“You’re funny Mr.Cogsworth!” The boy nearly shouts with a kind grin, and Cogsworth once more puffs up with pride.

“Why yes, I am quite entertaining,” He mocks his usual tirades of prideful speech, and again it sends giggles to erupt from Chip, shaking his tiny form.  He chuckles too, in spite of himself.  After the giggling subsides, he pats Chip on the knee with his tiny mitten hand.

“No need to be scared, Chip.  This affliction is mine alone, I promise,” He reassures, and Chip grins in kind.

“Yeah, Momma said it’s cause you got mad and hurt Mr.Lumiere,” Cogsworth winces at the reminder of the incident, but he doesn’t try to correct the boy.  “I don’t think that’s true though,” Chip continues, and Cogsworth freezes.  “I think you’re like Mr.Prince, and you need to find true love,” He says, and Cogsworth sighs.

“You are correct on that front, though the concept of the spell is gibberish to me,” He mutters the last part, and Chip nods vehemently in agreement.

“Yeah!  I don’t understand it either,” Chip looks down before continuing. “Why do you need to find love when you’re already married to Mr.Lumiere?”

Cogsworth chokes.

“W-what?!” He sputters out, and Chip looks up at him at the reaction.

“Momma says you two bicker like a married couple so much that you’re practically one,” Chip says matter-of-factly, before clapping a hand over his mouth.  “She told me not to tell you,” He whispers out, and Cogsworth’s face burns bright tomato red.  Lumiere and _him?!_   Why, that was- _that_ was…

He didn’t know what it was, it didn’t feel as wrong as he thought it should, but still!

Before he can reply, there are quick steps running towards them, and he turns to see Lumiere nearly sprinting down the hallway, eyes wide, but seemingly relieved.

“Cogsworth!  Your cart was overturned, and I could not find you!  What happened?” Chip is grinning slyly in a way an eight year old should not be able to, and Cogsworth shrugs helplessly.

“One of the many servants who dislike me decided to take action on their displeasure in my way of directing work,” He says with near exasperation, because it’s not as if he tries to be unlikable, and Lumiere’s eyes narrow for a moment, cold fiery fury that sends chills down Cogsworth’s spine.  Once the moment is done, that terrifying part of Lumiere disappears behind kind eyes and he easily picks up Cogsworth’s small body.  His eyes look to Chip’s red eyes and drying cheeks, but otherwise happy face, and he smiles.

“Ah, Chip, I see you have been keeping Cogsworth company.  Zank you,” He says, and Chip grins, getting up on his feet.

“No problem!  Bye Mr.Cogsworth.  Bye Mr.Lumiere!” Cogworth listens to the pitter patter of Chip’s shoes down the hallways until the boy disappears, and Lumiere turns around, hopefully to get Cogsworth back to his cart.

Cogsworth hopes his blushing is gone, and throws the admission from Chip out of his brain.

* * *

That night, his dreams are paralyzing.

He’s walking around the castle, deathly quiet and still and covered in dust.  Immediately, Cogsworth’s mind goes to the servants.  How could they allow the castle fall into such a state of disrepair?  They are nowhere to be found, so Cogsworth waddles about.  Each step echoes through the empty halls, and it makes him tense and uncomfortable.  Whispers filter into his ears, never making sense, always unintelligible and terrifying.  He slips in and out of rooms, and each time they are empty, sometimes having to dodge falling plaster or stone.

He reaches Lumiere’s room.  The man is sleeping.

“Lumiere!” He whisper shouts, but the man doesn’t move, and that leads him to slowly crawl up Lumiere’s blankets and onto his bed.  He’s surprised Lumiere hasn’t woken up with his tight pulling on the sheets, considering the man is known to be a light sleeper- _that wasn’t an intentional pun_ -but nonetheless he carries forward and climbs to where he finds Lumiere sleeping on his side, back turned to him.

Odd.  Lumiere always sleeps on his back, arms splayed out comically in a way that somehow covers the entire surface area of the bed.  Here, he is curled on his side, arms seeming to be coiled towards his chest, not that Cogsworth can see, and the reason for most concern is that Lumiere is deathly still.

“Lumiere?” This time it is an actual whisper, and he reaches his hand to pull Lumiere’s face towards him.

Hollow skull eyes stare at him when the skull turns towards him, and Cogsworth shrieks.  Jumping nearly off of the bed, he turns away, only to see the rest of the castle’s inhabitants staring back at him with the same skull-eyed stare.  Mrs.Potts, the Prince, Miss Belle, and even Chip stare at him without real eyes, bone skeletons clattering to the floor behind them until they too fall apart, and Cogsworth fights the urge to vomit as he feels dust against his back as all the bones begin to crumble around him.  The castle ages with the bones, falling apart around him into rumble as he stays unfaltering  and young; enchanted wood never ages, and suddenly he’s watching the world burn around him, and all he can think is that he can’t find Lumiere and he can’t breathe and-

He awakes with the smallest of gasps, too afraid to shout or speak or even move, fear ridden that he will find the castle in the derelict state that would come to it should its inhabitants have perished.  He steps with shaking hands and legs onto his small cart, quietly pedaling out into the hallway.  With the silence of his own deafeningly tucked away thoughts, he spends long minutes craning his ears to each room of servants and friends, and letting each weight of apprehension and fear fall off of his shoulders as he hears the confirmation of their continued living.  He stops only at the stairs after seeing to the servants on the top floor, and stares down the steps, wondering if it would be too hard for him to drag the cart down so he could be _sure_ , so he could absolutely _know_ that they’re alive.  He doesn’t get to finish his thoughts, because he hears soft steps behind him, and freezes.

“Cogsworth?” Lumiere, of course, because who else could it be?  He turns to stare at the man, who is rubbing at sleep ridden eyes to clear them of narcoleptic clouds, hair frazzled and clothes ruffled.  Cogsworth can’t speak, any bit of articulation that he could create to explain why he’s up, why he looks like he’s about to cry, and why he’s staring at the stairs like he’s about to jump down them disappear as the words dry up in his throat, fibers of the far too real a dream tying up his vocal chords and leaving him silent.

“I need to go downstairs,” He says in a small, near broken voice after what feels like an eternity, without any context or reason, but Lumiere doesn’t need to hear anything, he just needs to see the desperation and the silent plea written on Cogsworth’s face.

They walk down the stairs together, and Cogsworth allows himself to breathe.

* * *

 

After every face is accounted for, Lumiere takes him back to his room, still silent, but eyes full of concern and confusion that sends Cogsworth’s stomach into a boil, and his face heats up from the rising steam.  When they get inside the room, however, Lumiere does not set him on his usual place on the dresser.  Instead, Lumiere lays him down on the pillow left unused by Lumiere on one side of Lumiere’s bed.  Cogsworth minutely thinks of protesting-this isn’t something men do together, it is only a man and woman who lay together-but then Lumiere lays down on his side and faces him, so Cogsworth can clearly see the rising and falling of Lumiere’s chest and the breath moving in and out of Lumiere’s mouth and or nose.

It’s an immense comfort, so Cogsworth does not complain, and allows himself rest.

He wakes up after a dreamless sleep with Lumiere’s arm draped across his chest.  He would usually mind, but the arm is warm, and Lumiere’s skin is surprisingly soft, and when he looks over he can see Lumiere smiling in his sleep.

He dare not wake up the sleeping Frenchman-that’s what he tells himself-so he allows himself to fall back asleep once more.

He falls asleep smiling.


End file.
